by Ray Wench
The long train of women had just reached the next crossing. They were almost to the truck. Mark had to give them enough time to get to safety, but time was a weight pressing on him. He had to hurry. Peeking back through the tunnel, he couldn’t see any signs of pursuit. It made him wonder.
A chill ran down his back. The sound of a small stone skittering across the road above made him slide down into the creek and duck back through the pipe emerging on the opposite side of the road.
From there he crawled up the bank, staying close to the concrete side rail of the bridge. He peeked around the bridge, his face at street level. Leaning over the rail on the far side was his pursuer. If not for that pebble, Mark would have been ambushed from above. Mark aimed through the decorative concrete spindles of the rail and fired until the body pitched over the rail and splashed down into the creek.
As Mark slid back down, he looked at the hotel. Smoke poured out of some of the upper windows. He wished he had time to set the lower rooms ablaze, but all he could hope for now was that the fire would spread.
He jogged through the pipe and picked up his rifle, then ran to catch up to the others. Night had finally fallen, which gave them the cover they needed. Behind him, an orange glow filled the sky, letting him know the hotel was burning bright. Hopefully, the fire would grow stronger. Mark had fully expected there to be more men inside than there were. What concerned Mark most was not knowing where Buster and his troop went. If he did go out to the farmhouse, he might have taken a large contingent with him.
“We have to go faster. We could have company any minute.” He encouraged the caravan to move with more urgency. He passed them and ran up next to the lumbering Jarrod.
“Mark, how are we gonna transport all of these women?” Jarrod asked.
“Jarrod, you’ll have to worry about that when you get to the truck. Squeeze in as many as you can Find a second ride if necessary. Take them to your place. I have to go. Buster is going to the farm. Maggie and Darren are in danger.”
Without waiting for a reply, Mark ran ahead. When he got to the truck Mark passed it. Stopping at the first car on the street he used the butt of the rifle to break the passenger window and unlocked the door. Running around the car he slid in, broke open the steering column and searched desperately for the right wires.
Trying to work too fast Mark kept fumbling the wires. He stomped his feet in frustration. Mark took two deep breaths and tried again. This time he crossed the stripped wires and the car started. Flooring the pedal, Mark raced furiously not worrying about being seen.
The farmhouse was five miles away. The drive went fast but to Mark's mind every second was too long. He thought of the others. Had they made it to safety? Would he ever know? He pictured each one as if saying goodbye. If Buster were at the farmhouse, he would kill him, but he also knew the big man wouldn’t be alone.
Keeping the headlights off, Mark turned on the road about a half mile from the farmhouse. He parked on the far side of the cornfield. Taking the magazine out of the 9mm, he pulled rounds from the other weapons he had gathered until he had a full one. Then he combined whatever bullets were left into a spare. He dropped the empty gun and slid the extra magazine into his pocket. Even though the rifle was empty, he took it with him so he could use the scope. He stood up on the car and sighted over the corn. If anyone was there, they were either in the house or hiding.
Mark decided to approach the house through the cornfield. As he drew closer to the barn, he slowed his pace and started taking stock of his surroundings. If Buster was here, would he kill whoever was inside and leave? Would he take them captive and leave?
Or would he lie in wait for Mark, the man who had caused Buster so much trouble over the past week?
No, if Buster had come, he’d still be waiting for him and he would have guards stationed around the property. Mark scanned the grounds again. There would be one man in the pine trees near the road, watching east and west; another to the right of the house, near the cross street, looking north and south; and one or two more out back to prevent an approach through the cornfield.
But, where would he place the sentry watching the rear?
His gaze went to the barn. It was the building closest to the field and offered complete cover. A spotter placed there would be in a position to come up behind Mark if he tried for the house.
Mark moved to his right. He followed the rows of corn past the outhouse and around the back of the barn before breaking cover. There was a large sliding door on the back that matched the front one. The trouble was that it was heavy and old. It was likely to make noise. He stepped to the side of the door and tried to peek through, but it was too dark to see anything.
Mark slid the door open. It creaked announcing his presence. He rushed in and squatted behind a car; a car that hadn’t been there before. The darkness was deep enough to hide him without having to seek cover. Unless whoever might be in there had a flashlight.
He waited, listening to the stillness. A scraping, the sound of a shoe against the dirt floor told Mark someone was on the other side of the car. Mark crept forward. When he reached the bumper, he tried to slip to the other side of the car but found another bumper against the first. Then the flashlight snapped on.
A cone of light appeared at the opposite end of the car. The light crossed behind the car. Mark pulled his knife and duck-walked toward the guard. Mark had to take him silently. The light was almost around the trunk when Mark lunged blade first. Aiming for a spot just above the light, the knife slipped into the body and the flashlight fell.
The impaled guard let out a cry which Mark smothered with his hand. Two hands clasped around Mark’s trying to free the blade. Shoving his opponent against the car he pushed hard on the knife. The guard tried to fight but his efforts grew weaker until he could no longer support his weight. Mark guided the body to the floor and stayed on him until he stopped breathing.
There had been no time to close the door. If anyone went to check on the source of the squeak, he would be able to see the door was ajar. The beam of faint moonlight that poured through provided scant illumination. It wasn’t much, but maybe enough that he could see if someone went near to check.
Feeling his way along the vehicles Mark made it to the front of the barn. The front door was open a slit to enable the watcher to see outside. He looked through the slit and waited. No one came to investigate the noise. Using the scope, Mark scanned the grounds. If there were another guard out there, he couldn't find him. Nor could he see anyone moving in the house. Mark found the small flashlight. Without fear of being seen now, Mark swept the cone of light over the middle of the barn, counting four cars crammed together. Mark assumed Buster had instructed his troops to hide them so they wouldn’t give away their presence.
Five cars with four per vehicle would be twenty with nineteen remaining. Figuring two men to a car, minus one, Mark estimated nine more. Either way, he would have to take them out one by one.
Holding the light close to the floor, Mark went back to the body. The dead man’s weapon was a .40 caliber. He couldn’t use the bullets. He didn’t want to carry too many guns, fearing they would drop or clatter together when he needed to move silently, but he brought it with him for the moment. Putting the flashlight in a rear pocket, he waited to let his eyes adjust again to the darkness. Then, he slipped out the back and moved through the cornfield toward the street, in search of his next victim.
Forty
Once more, Mark followed the cornfield, stopping at the last row before the north/south street running in front of the house. A line of three large boulders marked the edge of the property. They were about ten feet from the cornfield, perpendicular to the street. On the closest and largest one squatted a man with his knees pulled up to his chest. He rocked back and forth as if he was listening to good music in his head. His gun was on the rock next to him.
Mark doubted he would be able to approach the watcher undetected. He decided a straight, fast run was his best option.
He set the extra gun and rifle down, and knife in hand, burst from the corn. He was halfway to the boulder before the man stopped rocking and cocked his head like a dog hearing a strange noise. He turned as his hand reached for the gun. But the initial hesitation gave Mark a chance to leap for the boulder. He tackled the man, driving him head first to the ground between the two boulders. A snapping sound occurred as the two men hit. Mark scrambled to his feet, expecting his opponent to do the same, but he didn't move. Looking closer, Mark noticed the angle of the man’s head. His neck was broken.
Mark took the gun and placed it in the cornfield with the others. In order to get to the sentry in the trees, he had to cross either behind or in front of the house. He was tempted to leave him and try for the house, but he didn’t want anyone coming up behind him. To have a reasonable chance at saving Maggie and Darren, he needed the element of surprise. The men in the house could not be aware he was on the grounds. Besides, there could be another guard on the far side of the house. Mark might run right into him.
Mark chose the long route. Returning to the cornstalks, he raced a good distance back the way he’d come before turning toward the tree-lined road. The corn rows ran to within ten feet of the trees. Keeping low, once more he darted between pine tree branches and waited for signs that he’d been seen. After a minute, he found it hard to control the urge to move. He forced himself to wait another minute. Mark then moved from tree to tree, staying on the cornfield side. Mark assumed the watcher would be on the street side, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to see anyone coming up the road.
With each tree he rounded, Mark paused to make sure no one was positioned there. He found his foe five trees later, turned around facing the fields as he was relieving himself. He had just zipped up his pants when Mark appeared around the tree. The surprise factor had frozen each man for a second before each moved.
The sentry reached for the gun stuck in his belt, while Mark made a desperate lunge to reach him with the knife before he could get off a shot. The man sidestepped Mark, hitting him with a double fist between the shoulder blades and driving him to the ground.
Perhaps sensing he had the advantage, the man opted to jump on Mark rather than try for his gun or shout for help. He landed on Mark’s back, sitting on him. Grabbing the back of Mark’s head, he slammed it into the ground several times.
Pulling his knees under him, Mark reached back, grabbed a wrist and pushed up into a shoulder roll. He landed on top of his combatant with both of them facing up. Wrapping strong arms around Mark’s chest, the man squeezed, then his arms slid up around his throat. Mark struggled for breath. Managing to grasp one finger, Mark yanked back as hard as he could and heard it snap.
His foe howled and the stranglehold slackened. Getting a small space to move, Mark rammed his head backward, smashing the man in the face, shutting him up for a moment, but sending bright light bulbs flashing in his own head. He latched on a second finger, but the man released his grip before it broke. Mark spun on top and drilled his right fist into the bloody face, taking the fight out of him.
Mark hit him two more solid blows to make sure he wouldn’t get up again.
Stripping him of his weapons, Mark stood up, hands on knees and tried to catch his breath. He stared down at the unconscious man, thinking he should finish him, but he couldn’t do it. Instead, he opted for pistol whipping him to ensure he wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.
Forty-One
Three down. Now came the hard part. Still bent over, Mark directed his attention toward the house. There were two doors, front and back, and they would be watched. The only other way in was to break a window, which would announce his arrival. Nothing he could think of would work. His brain was too tired to come up with anything else. He studied the possible entry ways again and again dismissed them all as suicidal.
Mark raced for the blind spot at the rear of the house, pressed against the wall and waited.
Maybe I can create a diversion to draw them out while I sneak in another way.
He was still squatting there, thinking, when the guard in the trees crawled out into the open and tried to scream for help. He choked on blood, then tried again. Mark saw no way of getting to the man before he issued a cry of alarm, but maybe he was the diversion he needed.
No, I have to shut the man up. I should have done it right the first time.
The guard started to run back when he found his voice, the shout rang out. It was too late now. The man collapsed to the ground, coughing, trying to clear his throat.
As long as they were alerted, maybe he could at least even the odds a bit. He needed their attention focused away from him. Taking the flashlight out of his pocket, he turned it on, and tossed it toward the struggling body, hoping the light would stay on. The flashlight bounced once and rolled under a tree, but light could still be seen through the branches.
He didn't have long to wait. The rear door opened and footsteps descended the wooden stairs. Mark crouched around the corner.
“Over there,” one of them whispered. “Go that way and stay wide. I’ll go through the trees and come up behind him.”
There was no response. Mark guessed there were two of them. Staying where he was, he brought the gun up near his face in a two-handed grip and sighted, watching for the first person to come into view. A lone gunman appeared beyond the corner. His gun was up and ready. But his eyes were focused in the direction of the light.
Farther out, a second man stepped into sight. Mark could now track them both. As the first gunman moved past, Mark shot him in the back. As soon as he pulled the trigger, Mark swung the gun toward his partner, haloed by the flashlight, giving Mark a perfect shot. He pulled the trigger twice more. The man spun but did not go down. Taking no chances, Mark moved closer and fired twice more, putting him down for good.
Turning toward the fallen guard, Mark pumped one round into him, then went back to the wall and crouched. He moved toward the front of the house. The windows were high above him. Making it to the front porch unseen, he climbed over the wrought-iron railing and crawled below the front windows to the opposite end. There, he pressed his back against the wall between the windows and the front door.
Inside, overlapping voices made it difficult to determine how many people there were. One voice rose above the others, “Did they get that bastard?”
Someone approached the front windows. He lay on his back and slid backward, keeping himself as close to the wall under the windows as possible. A face pressed against the pane with his hands on each side. Mark slid the gun up against the wall to the bottom of the window. Angling the barrel toward the face, he sat up and pulled the trigger twice.
The glass erupted and the face inside disappeared. Someone screamed in agony. Mark rose up above the broken window and searched for a target. It was difficult to see details, but he guessed anyone moving was most likely a bad guy. He shot three times at fleeting figures, not sure if he hit anyone.
The window next to him exploded as someone fired back. Mark dropped to his belly and crawled down the steps as bullets shattered the remaining windows.
To the side of the steps, Mark found a good-sized decorative stone. He pitched it through the glass storm door, hoping it would serve as a distraction. As it crashed through, he bolted for the back door. A lot of fire was directed toward the front. He guessed there must be five or six shooters. The windows were too high to allow him a view inside. If anyone were looking, they could see him, but unless he could step up on something, he had no angle to see them.
He passed a spigot on the side of the house and stopped. Testing his weight on it, he stepped up, rising slowly. He might not be able to hit anyone or even see them, but he had to keep them off balance, guessing where he was. With any luck, whoever was in the house might think more than one person was attacking them and they were surrounded. Two small windows were side-by-side above him with a six-inch wooden frame between them, where Mark slid his head as he rose above the window.
Voices an
d movement came from within. He took a quick peek trying to spot Maggie or Darren, but the windows were high and didn't allow an angle to look downward. He could only see the tops of a few heads. He dropped to the ground as the front door opened. A tall man leaned out over the railing and spied him. They exchanged fire, but Mark was in the open and about to retreat to the back of the house when the telltale click of a slide locking back sounded louder than a gunshot. Mark raced forward and got off one shot. The shooter fell back and managed to crawl into the house. Someone else started shooting through the front door, preventing Mark from gaining entry.
Mark scampered to the back door. He climbed the steps and listened. He had to be almost out of bullets, so he switched weapons. He was about to make an entrance when a deep booming voice called out.
“Hey. I know you’re close enough to hear me. I got your friends in here. You need to drop your weapon and step into the open, or I’m gonna kill one of them. You hear me? I ain’t playing with you. You got one minute, then it’s your fault when one dies.”
That was the one thing Mark could not fight against. He had hoped by keeping them guessing and occupied they would be too confused and disorganized to think. He had no real choice and no doubt Buster would carry out his threat.
To put his gun down and surrender though, would lead to all their deaths, but he could not live knowing he was responsible for getting Darren and Maggie killed.
He tried to negotiate, hoping to buy some time and maybe gather some information about how many of them were left. “You’re the ones trapped inside that house. You can’t stay in there forever. I can wait you out and pick you off one by one. And if you kill them, you no longer have leverage against me.”
“Then while you’re waiting you can listen to this boy and this old woman scream.”
Just then, someone did scream. Darren, who was like a miracle son. Even if it cost him his life, he had to at least get Darren free.