A child under the truck began crying—for two seconds before someone covered their mouth.
“Shh!” rasped a boy. “Remember the practice drills. If they can hear you, they can kill you.”
Emmy started tearily singing a lockdown song.
“Shh!” whispered the same boy. “There’s no locks here. Stay quiet.”
Multiple children whimpered.
An acknowledgement air horn chirp came from the south.
Harper tightened her grip on the shotgun. Fleeting memories of active shooter drills at her old school replayed in her head. Her heart beat faster; remembered terror at being a potential helpless victim worsened the fear of finding herself in the middle of an actual gunfight with as-yet-unseen enemies.
A bullet hit the pickup truck roof with a clank.
She jumped, but managed not to scream. For an instant, she felt like a chicken for sitting there and wanted to run into the corn to help deal with whoever attacked the town. I’m not hiding. I’ve got like eleven children hiding here. I can’t leave them defenseless. And Madison… She grumbled to herself for feeling a smidge of favoritism. In the past months, she’d come to love Jonathan and Lorelei like family, too. Though, she felt as if she’d sworn an oath to her dead parents to protect Madison. She’d known Madison for her entire life, all ten years of it. As guilty as it made her feel, she couldn’t deny the connection to her blood sister ran a little deeper. She’d absolutely kill or die to protect all three of them. The only real difference being that if anything happened to Madison, it would hurt more.
Sudden worry for her siblings made her pop up to peek over the truck bed, but the soil bags blocked her view of the kids hiding at the near side of the sand trap. An unfamiliar man with a rifle emerged from the wall of wavering green cornstalks lining the far end of the sand trap, pausing to observe the kids. He spotted Harper a half-second later, went wide-eyed, and tried to aim his weapon at her.
Blam.
The Mossberg going off made all the kids scream at once and blotted out the sound of the man’s rifle firing. Topsoil sprayed her face the same instant the front of his throat exploded into a crimson ruin. He collapsed over sideways, dead, his rifle falling barrel-first down into the sandpit. Harper shifted her gaze left to where his bullet ripped a hole in a bag not quite a foot away from her cheek.
One of the kids shushed the others, though she couldn’t tell who.
Rapid shooting came from the right. Harper spun to aim into the cornstalks on the far side of the grassy strip, sinking down in a squat with her back against the passenger door. Shit. What’ the hell’s happening? That guy didn’t have a blue sash. It’s not the Lawless. Who’s attacking us? Why?
Two of the former Colorado Springs hockey players, now farm workers, ran by screaming f-bombs. One boy had blood spattered on his arm, but it looked like he’d merely been standing near someone else who got hit.
A young-thirtysomething blond man, Ryan Herman from the militia, sprinted out of the corn stalks about twenty feet away from of her position on her left, his 9mm pistol raised behind him, firing at someone deeper in the field. Blood ran down his left arm from a shoulder wound. He squeezed off four shots. An anguished gargle came from the distance along with the thump of a body hitting the ground.
Another unfamiliar man crept out of the corn three paces behind Ryan, AK47 raised. Harper aimed and fired, an almost automatic reflex to a pop up target from thousands of range hours. Buckshot peppered the attacker’s chest and face with small holes, but he clenched down on the trigger, pouring a burst of automatic fire into Ryan’s back from six feet away; blood fountained out from his chest. He convulsed on his feet and crumpled to the ground.
“Ryan!” shouted Harper.
She stared in horror at him, certain he’d died instantly.
All the kids screamed.
Harper spun to her right. Upon seeing an armed man advancing toward the truck from behind, she shrieked a war cry and jumped to her feet, trying to draw his attention away from the children. Before either she or he could fire a shot, muzzle flare erupted from the corn on the left and the man collapsed dead. Sadie Walker started to emerge from the greenery, giving Harper a ‘gotcha covered’ nod, but another gunshot from the right knocked her to the ground. She curled up in a ball, moaning.
Harper pivoted to aim at the source of the shot, hesitating only out of worry it might be someone on the militia who shot Sadie without checking targets. An indistinct figure among the cornstalks moved a little closer, raising his rifle to put another bullet into Sadie. Harper fired twice at the shooter as fast as she could click the trigger. The thump of a body hitting the ground followed.
That has to be a bad guy. Friendly fire wouldn’t have tried to finish her off.
“Sadie!” shouted Harper.
The woman groaned in pain, then wheezed something unintelligible, like she couldn’t breathe.
Harper started to run to her, but skidded to a stop as soon as she passed the tailgate of the pickup—due to a pistol against the side of her head. Somehow, she managed not to wet herself.
“Drop the gun, kid,” said a man.
She glanced down at her weapon, unable to make her hands open. Her conscious mind tried to obey the command, but something inside her refused to surrender Dad’s Mossberg, even with a gun pressed to her head. If she dropped it, she’d probably die after being raped or abused for as long as she survived. If she didn’t drop it, death would be quick. Giving up the gun would be abandoning Madison, abandoning all the kids to whatever these men would do to them.
Her grip tightened. “What do you want?”
Random gunfire continued from seemingly everywhere.
The man abruptly twisted to his right, pulling the gun away from her skin. A dull thunk preceded him howling in pain and stumbling back. She spun on him, jamming the shotgun barrel into his face, right beneath his nose. She locked stares with a man in his later thirties who looked like he used to live in the suburbs. He still had the polo shirt, though his light brown hair and unshaved face said ‘homeless’ more than ‘middle manager.’ A leaf knife stuck out of his head, an inch away from his eye, closer to his ear.
“You goddamn pig,” whispered Harper.
“Wait,” rasped the man. “No.”
Harper narrowed her eyes, but held her fire. Something about him seemed genuine.
“I… no. I just didn’t wanna have to shoot a kid. Wasn’t gonna do anything to ya. Wanted you to drop it so you didn’t shoot me. All I wanna do is get out of here.”
Mila stood waist-deep in the sand trap, scowling at the man, another leaf knife in her hand, poised to throw.
“Toss the gun and get down,” said Harper.
The man chucked a medium-sized silver handgun away and lowered himself to kneel, hands up. Once he flattened out on his chest, she pressed a knee to his back. With reasonable gentleness, she removed the leaf knife embedded in his skull.
He grunted.
“Sadie?” called Harper.
“I’m okay,” wheezed Sadie. “Vest took it. Damn this hurts. Gotta be a busted rib.”
Jonathan scrambled out of the sand trap and scooped the handgun up. He crouched behind the truck and pointed the weapon at the man who surrendered. Harper flicked the knife into the grass near enough to Mila for her to recover it, then ran to Sophie while bullets hissed by in the air, though she couldn’t tell if someone fired at her or the shots passed between two other people.
Sadie lay curled on her side, an olive drab armor vest on over her flannel shirt and jeans. From the ground, she fired her M-16 into the corn twice. Her second shot made a man scream, but another, more distant gunshot silenced him.
Harper gripped Sadie’s arm and dragged her to the sand trap. She groaned and gasped the whole way, but seemed to appreciate the help. Once the woman crawled into the hole, Harper stooped to check the children—saw no injuries among them—and ducked down by the rear tire for cover.
“Relax, kid. I didn’
t come here to hurt anyone, especially kids. We just wanted food. I used to be a dentist. When they started shooting, I just wanted to get the hell out of here.”
“That’s ironic,” said Mila in an eerily calm tone while examining the bloody leaf knife. “A little girl made a dentist scream.”
“Just don’t move, okay.” Jonathan’s voice wavered with nervousness.
Roy Ellis from the militia shouted, “Left side.”
“Got him!” yelled Dennis.
A rapid series of gunshots went off a fair distance away beyond the sand trap.
“Mila, get down,” whispered Jonathan.
“Okay,” said the girl.
“I peed myself,” whispered Emmy.
“Eww,” muttered an unknown child.
“Everyone just stay down and stay still.” Harper scanned her field of view for treats. Instinct kept trying to pull her gaze upward for flying clay pigeons, but she forced herself to focus on the constantly moving greenery. Shadows between leaves created the illusion of people moving around. Twice, she nearly fired at plants.
Rapid footfalls from the front of the truck got her attention. She swung the shotgun left toward where she expected to see someone run into view, but held her fire when Kirk, the hockey player who’d taunted Logan about being Mexican, came running toward her, pale as a ghost. Half of his face and most of his left arm had a coating of blood, though he didn’t appear wounded.
When the boy came within roughly forty meters of the truck, a blood-spattered man leapt out of the green wall on the right, tackling him from behind. Harper tried to get a bead on him, but didn’t trust buckshot at that range not to hit Kirk, too. The man started to put his handgun to the back of Kirk’s head; before Harper could jump up to run closer, another man leapt out of the corn and crashed into the attacker, knocking him off Kirk. The two men rolled in the grass, but the attacker ended up on top. Kirk sprang to his feet. He seemed about to run off for a second, looking back and forth, but charged at the struggling pair instead, getting in the way of Harper’s shot.
The handgun went off.
Kirk dove on the man, knocking him away. They struggled on the ground, fighting over the weapon. Harper tried to get a clear shot, but couldn’t. She ran a few steps closer, but wary of a threat to the kids—especially with the ‘dentist’ there—she stopped.
The man threw Kirk to the side, but the boy didn’t let go, dragging the older man with him to the ground again. That time, Kirk ended up on top, wrenched the gun out of the man’s grip, and hammered him in the face repeatedly until he ceased fighting back.
When the man lost consciousness, Kirk looked up at Harper. Despite all the blood spattered on him, he didn’t appear wounded beyond a few scrapes and bruises. The look he gave her struck dread straight into her heart. He held eye contact for only a second before tossing the handgun aside and jumping on the person who saved him, holding pressure on a bullet wound.
She didn’t have to look. Deep in her bones, she knew who’d been shot.
“Logan!” screamed Harper.
Only the whimpering of terrified children kept her glued in place. She wanted to run to him, but would never forgive herself if something happened to one of the kids. Not since she’d first ventured into the ash-covered streets of Lakewood eight months ago had her hands trembled that much.
“Hang on, man,” said Kirk. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Logan groaned.
Harper squeezed the shotgun so tight she expected to break it. He’s still alive.
The man Kirk beat senseless emitted a moan.
She ran halfway closer and shot him in the chest twice. “Bastard.”
“Gah! Hell!” shouted Kirk, close enough to the body that blood spray hit him.
At that distance, she had a reasonable view of Logan in the tall grass. He’d been hit high and left on the chest. Kirk placed both hands over the wound, applying pressure. She sounded another 911 tone with the air horn.
“No shit!” yelled Marcie from the left.
“Medic!” shouted Harper, her voice cracking with desperation.
The deep boom of a shotgun went off twice a good ways north, slower. Pump-action, not semi-automatic like Dad’s.
Harper backed up and crouched by the tire, shaking from the clash between wanting to run to Logan and needing to protect the children.
“Don’t try it,” whispered Mila.
“Easy, kid. Just an itch. I don’t have a weapon in my ear,” replied the dentist.
“Clear,” shouted Roy, from far northeast.
“Clear here,” called Dennis, to the west.
“Hostiles down,” shouted Marcie, east.
Time seemed to stand still. As soon as Roy, Marcie, Ken Zhang, and Dennis emerged from the corn, hurrying toward Harper’s position, she bolted from the tire and ran to kneel beside Logan.
He still breathed, but had become delirious, half conscious. She swung the Mossberg over her shoulder on its strap and grabbed his right hand in both of hers. No… no… I knew something was gonna happen with him. I never should’ve even thought about dating anyone. Tears welled up in her eyes. Logan squeezed her hand back.
The four militia people stopped by Ryan’s body. Marcie stooped to check on him.
“Sons of bitches,” muttered Dennis. Blood streamed down the side of his head from a grazing wound to his left ear.
“Roy!” shouted Harper, her voice heavy with grief. “Here!”
Roy and Dennis jogged over.
“Aww hell,” said Roy. He took a knee on Logan’s right, examining the injury site without moving Kirk’s hands. “Keep pressure on that.”
Kirk nodded.
“You hit?” asked Dennis.
“No…” Harper pointed at the sand trap. “Sadie’s hurt. Didn’t go through her vest. Got one guy alive. He didn’t wanna shoot me ’cause he thought I’m a kid. Surrendered pretty easy. Said he’s a dentist.”
Roy patted Kirk on the shoulder. “Sit tight. Hold that down.” He stood. “Everyone else, come on. Give me a hand.” He jogged over to the truck. “Kids, get out from under there.”
The four militia climbed in the bed after Roy and proceeded to unload the topsoil bags by heaving them to the ground. A few children crawled out from under the CUCV into the sand pit.
Harper slid her arms under Logan’s back and tried to lift him, grunting.
Logan groaned.
“What are you doing?” asked Kirk.
She looked up at him. “Bringing him to the truck. We don’t have time.”
“Don’t. He’s got a bullet in his lung. We have to move him carefully. Gonna take a couple people to lift him, not just one. You’ll hurt him.”
“But…” She forced herself to stop tugging at him, then stared at the truck-unloading. Hurry up!
Once Roy, Dennis, Marcie, and Ken cleared enough space for a body, they hurried back to Logan and did their best to gently lift him.
Harper jogged alongside while the militia carried him to the truck and eased him into the bed. Just as she started to climb in, Madison bolted out of the sand trap and clamp-hugged her.
Dennis chucked a pair of handcuffs to Marcie, who restrained the dentist, then pulled a rag out of his pocket and held it to his minor head wound.
“Guess Veronica ran for cover,” said Dennis, looking at Harper. “Okay, go on. I’ll watch the kids.”
Harper shoved Madison up into the truck and jumped in. She sat by Logan’s head and kept holding his hand. Lorelei and Jonathan scrambled up behind her.
“Like hell I did.” Veronica emerged from the cornstalks holding an AK-47, bleeding from a cut on her right arm and a small-caliber bullet wound in her left shin. “I ain’t gonna leave my kids.”
“You’re shot.” Dennis jogged over to her. “And sorry. Didn’t see you.”
“Got one guy back there. Never fired one of these things before… took me a few tries.” Violet offered the rifle to Dennis. “Here. You’re probably a lot better with this
.”
He slung it over one shoulder, then patted the tailgate twice. “Go! Get him to the med center.”
Roy started the engine.
Veronica crouched to peer under. “All clear.”
“Sokay,” rasped Logan. “Stay… kids.”
“Dennis is watching them. I’m here.” Harper’s tears fell onto his shoulder.
“Don’t die,” said Madison.
“Yeah.” Lorelei sniffled. “I don’t like dying.”
Jonathan wiped tears and attached himself to Harper’s left arm.
Kirk, still keeping his hands on the wound, also appeared to be crying.
Roy pulled out into a turn, driving as straight as the cornfields allowed to the southwest on the fastest path to Route 74, which led straight to the med center.
“Come on, Logan. Just a little bit more.” Harper gave his hand a squeeze. “Stay awake.”
Logan didn’t squeeze back.
14
Dead Inside
Numb to the world around her, Harper stared into space, vaguely aware of the greyish-blue walls of the med center’s waiting room. Madison curled up on the chair to her right, leaning against her. Jonathan sat on her left, holding her hand. Lorelei cuddled in her lap, a serious expression on her face for the first time since Harper had met her.
Every few minutes, however, the little one attempted a test smile to try cheering her up.
According to the wall clock, a little over an hour had passed since both doctors had rushed Logan into their operating room… which had probably once been either a dentist’s procedure room or a conference area.
The other militia headed out right away to deal with the mess on the farm, except for Roy, who donated blood. Everyone in town had been tested for type in case of such an eventuality. Harper wanted to help, but her A+ blood couldn’t be given to Logan who had O+. Walter Holman and Annapurna both showed up to donate as well.
Roy stuck around after the blood draw, putting his paramedic training to use along with Al Gonzalez. They triaged Violet’s leg wound as well as six farm workers who’d been caught in the crossfire, though except for the two who died, no one had been injured as seriously as Logan.
The Lucky Ones (Evergreen Book 3) Page 13