Smith stepped through the doorway and crouched down by the dead body. He took a black metallic handgun from the corpse and took a long look at it. Then he turned back to the shattered door and studied the damage.
“This gun didn’t cause all that shit,” he muttered.
“No, the shooter definitely had a shotgun,” I responded in a whisper.
“Stay on your guard, kid,” Smith murmured. “We need to shoot first when this asshole pops up.”
I nodded and glanced between the two doorways at either end of the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The hostile shooter was either hiding in the storeroom to the left or the room slightly concealed by the red wooden door to the right. I looked at Smith, pointed in each direction and shrugged. Smith took the hint and turned his head left and right, no doubt weighing up the situation. He crept towards me, gazing at the red painted door to the right. Smith leaned down, putting his mouth close to my ear.
“I’ll go check out that room,” he whispered, pointing to the red door. “You keep a good eye on that stockroom on the other side.” He jabbed a thumb at the storeroom door. “Shoot any fucker who comes out of there with all guns blazing, okay?”
I nodded. Smith edged closer to the red door leading with his right arm and the handgun poised and at the ready. He dabbed the door with the gun barrel so it swung slowly inward and waited beside the frame. I crouched, aiming my handgun at the space beyond the open door. The room was dim and a stench of sweat and piss wafted out but I saw no signs of movement in the gloom. I saw what looked like a couple of sagging beds and a few battered, wooden closets
Smith darted from the right side of the doorway, across the threshold to the left side of the door jamb with his back to the wall. Still, nobody moved or fired a shot. Smith waited a beat and slid down to a crouching position. He swiveled and scuttled through the doorway into the room.
I turned and moved a little closer to the storeroom doorway, retaining my hunched stance. I caught a whiff of soured milk or spoiled cream as I drew closer to the doorway. Something moved in the shadows beside the boxes and I stopped still in my tracks and listened intently. All I heard was McElroy muttering in the next room. I edged closer to the storeroom door. The shadows cast by the boxes seemed to elongate. My inner danger radar was in the red again.
Something wasn’t right. A sudden threat felt imminent.
I shuffled around to the left so I was directly in front of the doorway. Sweat dripped from my forehead, everything else in the world zoned out. All I heard was my own heavy breathing and my pulse pumping through my head.
I took a couple of slow, cautious paces towards the doorway and I smelled fear and sweat. I didn’t know if I was secreting the scent or if it was radiating from somewhere else. Something shuffled inside the storeroom. I gasped and leaned forward for a closer look into the gloomy interior.
Within a fraction of a second, the boxes on top of the pile nearest the door shifted. They tilted towards me and tumbled down in a rumbling heap against my legs, sending me reeling backwards. The boxes fell all around me and a couple of cylindrical drums rolled around my feet, causing me to lose my balance and fall over.
In a combination of panic and frustration, I fired a shot from my handgun as I toppled over backwards. The round zipped high into the ceiling somewhere.
I caught a glimpse of a figure darting from the gloom of the storeroom and I knew whoever it was wasn’t going to try and help me to my feet. I stumbled but raised my body off the deck slightly just in time to see a crazy looking dude in a sweat stained gray t-shirt, green combat pants, with a bushy black beard, long dark hair and bulging black eyes bearing down on me. He wielded a shotgun above his head, holding the barrel end and I knew he was about to bring the butt down in a clubbing motion against my head.
My defense instinct kicked in and I dodged to my left. The guy swung the shotgun down and the butt missed my head but grazed against my right collar bone. Pain erupted in my shoulder, causing my fingers to spasm and I dropped my handgun as I was trying to raise it upward at my attacker.
The crazy guy’s head lunged towards me in a butting motion. I twisted my face away to the right and the blow only glanced against my forehead. I lifted my arms and grabbed the guy’s t-shirt, trying to hurl him away from me. We wrestled for a couple of seconds and I grabbed his biceps so he couldn’t raise the shotgun for another attempt at a clubbing blow. I smelled the sweat from his body and meaty, stale breath blasting in my face.
The guy shuffled me backwards in a grappling huddle and I heard clumping footsteps from the adjacent rooms beyond. Presumably and hopefully, Smith and McElroy were on their way to add their assistance.
Time seemed to run in slow motion. I battled the guy but he was strong and he pushed me backwards. I heard Smith yell something but didn’t comprehend what he was saying. I spun the guy around in a sudden whirling motion, hoping to knock him off his feet. My plan didn’t work out. I only succeeded in causing us both to lurch against the toppled down boxes.
McElroy bundled through the doorway but tripped and stumbled over the outstretched legs of the dead man lying on the floor. The corpse was partially concealed by one of the boxes covering his head and torso. McElroy swore loudly as he tumbled onto all fours on the wooden boards.
I saw Smith in my peripheral vision, trying to make his way towards me but the cylindrical containers rolled into his path. He had his handgun raised as he kicked away the rotating drums.
“I can’t get a clear shot, kid,” Smith yelled. “Hold fucking still a mo.”
The crazy guy took a brief glance to his right, reacting to Smith’s instruction. His eyes widened and he obviously knew what was coming. I tried to restrain the guy and hold him still but he pushed back, struggling and reeling like a wild animal. I clung on to his arms but he fought against my grip. We lurched backwards across the room.
“Hold him steady, Wilde Man, for fuck’s sake,” Smith roared.
I couldn’t respond to Smith. The crazy guy kept pushing and we hurtled across the floor space. I was aware of the smoked glass windows behind me and gritted my teeth as my back collided with the plate glass panes. The crazy guy didn’t slow up. I gripped hold of him tightly as the window erupted, sending a shower of glass chips flying around us.
My stomach seemed to rise up my throat as the motion of free falling overwhelmed me. The sensation didn’t last long, only a fraction of a second. Glass fragments rained down on me when I hit the deck on my back. The fall knocked the breath out of my guts and reeled me senseless for a couple of moments.
I blinked in the brightness of the outdoor world and realized I’d landed on something soft and squidgy beneath me on the paved patio outside the back doors of the saloon. I felt pain as I rolled to my side and saw a half eaten and mutilated corpse alongside me. The face of the corpse was half chewed away and one remaining eye stared at me blankly. Not only had some poor bastard been eaten alive but they’d had me land on top of them from a first floor window.
I glanced beyond the dead body and saw the crazy guy grimacing as he hauled himself to his feet. I no longer had hold of him and I’d lost my handgun on the upper floor. I still had Brooksey’s rifle strapped to my back but it was wedged beneath my body and the ground.
The crazy guy staggered towards me, tugging an evil looking, curved bladed knife from a sheath on his waist belt. I wriggled, trying to stand but my legs felt wobbly and my arms thrashed around, almost too heavy to lift. The exertion of battling this crazy guy and the after effects of falling out of a window had taken their toll. I rolled sideways, managing to prop myself up and shuffled onto my knees but my legs refused to work properly and I couldn’t stand. I struggled with the rifle sling, trying to pull the weapon around my body but my fingers felt as thick as bananas and I couldn’t seem to coordinate in any kind of order.
The crazy guy snorted and spat on the ground beside him. He came closer, holding the curved blade out in front of him and a few
feet from my face.
“You never should have came here, Drecksack,” he mumbled, in a growling Texas drawl.
He flipped the knife over so he held the handle, with the blade pointing down at me from the underside of his hand. He drew his arm across his body in a pre-attack stance. I tried to move but I knew that curved blade was going to slice through me at any second.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I saw the blade glint in the sun as the crazy guy waited a beat before he raked the knife across my throat. I briefly hoped the pain wouldn’t be too unbearable and bleeding out would be a quick way to die. All the hundreds of things I wanted to say and do in my life flashed through my brain like a supersonic message carrying a ton of information. My brain seemed to frazzle at the enormity and finality in the face of impending death.
The air seemed to grow hotter and a series of loud bangs and pops boomed around me. Blood sprayed over my face and the crazy guy yelled. His face screwed up and he seemed be almost bursting, with blood leaking out of holes in the side of his chest and torso. Finally, another loud pop echoed through the air and the top of the crazy guy’s head shattered in a spurt of blood and brain matter. He fell on his left side and the knife clattered across the patio tiles.
“You okay down there, Wilde Man?”
My head took a few seconds to clear. I wiped the blood from my face with my sleeve and brushed glass chips off my clothing before staggering to my feet. I glanced up at the broken smoked glass window above me and saw Smith and McElroy leaning out through the shattered pane with their gun barrels still smoking. Their grim, determined faces reminded me of those old black and white gangster movies with Jimmy Cagney and Humphrey Bogart in the starring roles.
I nodded and hauled my aching body upright. “Never better, guys,” I muttered. “How’s Brooksey?”
McElroy’s expression changed from mean to sad and he shook his head.
“I’m afraid he didn’t make it through,” he sighed.
I groaned, hoping I was wrong but I already knew Brooksey had succumbed to his wounds. “That’s too bad,” I mumbled, rising to my feet. “Brooksey was a good guy.”
“It’s all clear up here, kid,” Smith said. “There’s no more of these shit bag guys in the house.”
I nodded. “Thank fuck for that.” I pointed at the crazy dead guy on the ground. “This stupid fucking prick almost killed me.”
“We got your ass covered, kid,” Smith boomed. “As always.”
I nodded again, in appreciation this time. Smith had saved my ass countless times and I knew I’d have been long dead if I’d never met him.
I sauntered across the patio, brushing glass chips and pieces of window frame of me as I walked. I bent down and picked up the evil looking, curved knife that the guy was about to slash me with. I gently touched the blade, running my finger down the slightly serrated edge. The damn thing was razor sharp and would kill anything with a few strokes in the right places.
I sipped water from a plastic bottle as I continued to study the knife and run the recent turn of events through my head, allowing my brain to process the circumstances. Smith and McElroy disappeared from sight from the window and I heard them clumping down the staircase a few moments later. They reappeared at the back entranceway, carrying what I presumed was Brooksey’s body. They took each end, gripping the feet and beneath the shoulders and a creased green colored, poncho blanket that was riddled with holes covered the corpse. Both Smith and McElroy grunted with exertion and sweat ran down their faces as they staggered onto the courtyard in stooped stances.
“We’ll get him on the bus and bury him back near the plane someplace,” McElroy muttered.
Smith nodded.
Smith and McElroy shuffled around the patio, avoiding the corpses littering the stone slabs. They stopped moving and we all turned our heads towards the pathway running alongside the saloon when we heard the honking of a vehicle horn.
“Shit! That’s Anderson,” McElroy barked. “Sounds like he’s got trouble.”
I tucked the curved knife and the water bottle away inside my jacket pockets.
“Better hurry it along,” Smith said, nodding at the covered body between him and McElroy.
I followed behind them as they shuffled down the pathway, struggling with the weight of Brooksey’s limp corpse. We moved around the walkway and saw Anderson standing beside the RV’s open driver side door. An anxious expression engulfed his face and he pointed down the roadway in the direction we’d come.
“What’s up?” Smith barked.
“Vehicles on the way,” Anderson muttered. “You can see the dust plumes in the distance.” He noticed the body Smith and McElroy were carrying. “Shit! What the fuck happened in there? Is that Brooksey under that blanket? Is he dead?”
“That’s too many questions to answer in one go, friend,” Smith rumbled. “Open the fucking slide door so we can get this stiff inside the damn bus, will you.”
Anderson gulped and nodded. He turned and hurriedly slid the side door open. McGuiness still sat in the bench seat and looked shocked when he saw Brooksey’s body. I moved forward to help Smith and McElroy maneuver the corpse into the vehicle interior and felt a sharp stab of pain at the back of my ribcage. I winced and briefly thought I’d get Wingate to check out my injuries before realizing she was still missing.
McGuiness rose and grimaced as he gripped his injured shoulder.
“You stay put,” McElroy shouted at McGuiness. “We got this.”
McElroy lost his grip around Brooksey’s shoulders. The body lurched sideways and the blanket fell off him and into the sand. Anderson bent to pick it up but the wind took the flimsy garment and it blew across the road behind the RV.
I glanced at Brooksey’s face and the color had drained away. His skin was ashen gray and he looked like a zombie. At least McElroy had closed his eyes so I didn’t have to see the dull, lifeless pupils that change so utterly when death takes hold of the body. The blood oozing from the fatal gunshot wounds had started to dry in the heat and changed color from crimson to dark orange.
Anderson chased the poncho blanket while Smith, McElroy and I struggled to take a firm hold of Brooksey’s body.
“Ah, shit. Poor old Brooksey, man,” McGuiness groaned. His chin dropped to his chest and he emitted a deep, sorrowful sigh. I knew that feeling only too well. It was tough when one of your fellow survivors expired.
Anderson rushed back to the RV door without the poncho blanket. His face was pale, his eyes were wide and he looked truly scared.
“Those guys who are chasing us are moving quicker than I thought,” he gasped. “They’re going to be on top of us any second.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I glanced to my right when I heard the rumbling sound of approaching engines. The dust kicked up in a cloud and a couple of sand buggies skirted around the right side of the RV in a wide, circling arc.
“Hurry, get Brooksey inside,” McElroy barked.
We rolled Brooksey onto the floor of the RV through the open doorway. McElroy, Smith and I reached for our firearms and drew them ready. McGuiness groaned as he pulled his handgun from his shoulder holster and surveyed the scene from the RV side window. Anderson whimpered but followed suit as a few more vehicles rolled alongside us and a couple of battered and dirty SUVs skidded to a halt in front of the RV. We were well and truly surrounded. The rumbling of vehicle engines encircling us sounded like a cluster of huge, angry hornets that were about to swarm on their prey. Diesel fumes and dust swirled in the air around us.
“Ah, fuck! What are we going to do?” Anderson wailed.
“Just stay fucking cool,” Smith growled. “If they were going to shoot at us, they’d have done it by now. Don’t give your guns up and don’t start shooting unless I do.” He slowly passed me my handgun I’d lost on the upper floor of the saloon and I slipped it into my holster with my free hand.
Anderson audibly gulped and nodded. His eyes remained wide and he looked as though he was s
cared shitless. I had to admit, I was inwardly scared too but attempted to exude an outer projection of meanness with my body language in a hunched, defensive stance and a glowering facial expression, as though I was some kind of gun totting badass. Brooksey’s rifle weighed heavy in my hands and I tried my best not to shake as I gripped the weapon.
The vehicle and sand buggy engines cut almost simultaneously. Only the ticking engine of our RV and the desert breeze broke the stillness. The surrounding vehicles stayed motionless for a few seconds that felt like hours. Sweat rolled down my face and I felt my heart hammering in my chest. I wondered what the hell was going on and why these guys were now sitting still and not making a move. I could almost taste the tension in the air.
Doors opened and slammed shut from the SUVs ahead of us. I turned my head and glanced through the RV windows to try and see what was happening. I counted eight guys carrying an array of firearms approaching the RV. Some of them wore US Army style, desert combat fatigues, brown and light green flecked jackets and pants along with big brimmed floppy hats. The rest of them wore black shirts and wide black trousers. All of them wore sunshades and surrounded a tall, slim guy dressed in an all black uniform and a fawn colored cowboy hat. They walked around the front of the RV and a guy in desert fatigues leaned in through the open driver’s window and turned the key to kill the engine. They didn’t speak to each other and the wind whipping along the road was the only sound around us.
The tall guy looked up at the sky for a few seconds with his hands on his hips. He didn’t hold a firearm but I noticed a big, black leather holster at his waist. The sunlight glinted in his big, dark sunshades as he grimaced against the bright sunlight. His teeth were perfectly white and his skin was pale. He looked as though he didn’t spend much time outdoors in the searing Texas heat.
Left in the Cold (The Left Series) Page 13
