Brink of Extinction | Book 2 | Stay Alive

by Shupert, Derek

I grabbed the doorknob, turned, then pulled. It refused to budge. I tugged a bit harder, forcing it open.

  The hinges creaked. I opened the door and slipped inside.

  The pain-filled screams and cries of a female voice filled the silent home. A louder, gruffer baritone voice shouted back.

  I closed the door behind me and swept the kitchen area. A rounded table sat in the corner. An array of crushed beer cans cluttered the top. The counters had little to nothing on them and neither did the open cabinets.

  The keys to the truck or SUV had to be around somewhere. I skimmed over the table, then the counters, but found no keys.

  I moved on through the kitchen and down the dark hallway with the piece trained ahead of me and my finger inside the trigger guard.

  “No. Please,” the feminine voice screamed as heavy footsteps hammered the wooden floor.

  “Take her upstairs,” the gruff, angry voice shouted.

  The white light grew brighter from the room toward the other end of the hallway. I paused, moved toward the far wall, and trained the piece at the open doorway.

  A man emerged from the room, dragging a frantic and battered woman behind him. He had his back turned to me as he moved across the hallway to the staircase.

  “Get your hands off me.” The woman thrashed, jerking her arm and planting her feet. She turned toward the room. “William.”

  Her escort wrenched her arm, throwing her forward. She grabbed the banister, then looked down the hallway. Even through the darkness of the home, I could see the naked fear on her face.

  “Come on. Move your ass now, or I’ll really give you something to scream about.” The man pulled her up the stairs.

  The cries and pleas waned, then died off as they hit the second floor of the house. Heavy footfalls tromped above my head, followed by the dull thud of a door slamming closed.

  I moved from the shadows and crept down the hallway toward the staircase and the white light that remained in the room. My piece trained at the opened doorway, then to the darkness beyond the stairs. Multiple shadows moved along the floor of the hallway.

  “Where is that damn tarp?” an angry voice asked. “I told him it should be in the back of the truck. It’s not rocket science, even for him.”

  “Who knows,” a high-pitched voice replied. “Maybe it isn’t back there, or it blew out on the way over.”

  “Look out the window and see if you can see him, will ya?” the angry voice asked.

  “Please,” a weakened voice said, “I told you—”

  “Shut your damn mouth.” A jarring blow sounded from the room. A dense thud hit the floor. “You know, if you’d just tell us where it’s at, then we could just place a slug in your head and call it a day instead of torturing the shit out of you.”

  I toed the edge of the door, then peeked around the edge. A man lay on his side, tied to a chair that rested on the floor. His wrists had black zip ties around them. The raw skin where the teeth bit into his flesh looked inflamed, and bloody. He groaned in pain, like a wounded animal.

  A short, bald, stocky man with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows grabbed the chair, then yanked the beaten man from the floor, sitting both upright. Across the room, a taller, slender man stood, staring out of the window.

  I took a step forward, lowered the pistol to my side, then entered the room. The battered man’s head dangled forward–lifeless.

  Stocky turned and looked my way, then flinched. He grabbed his chest with his hand. “Christ, Simmons. You scared the shit out of me. Did you see Daniels out there? He’s supposed to be bringing the tarp inside.”

  A slender man turned away from the window. “I don’t see him out there. Not sure where he could be.”

  Stocky glanced to the piece in my hand, then to my pants. His gaze flitted up to me as he reached behind his back.

  I brought the pistol up in a blink, training it at his forehead. “Don’t even think about it. Hand me the piece, nice and slow.”

  He froze, eyes narrowed.

  Slender turned away from the window, then lifted his hands in the air. “Simmons. What the hell are you doing?”

  “That isn’t Simmons,” Stocky said in a hoarse growl. He reached behind his back, pulled the heater from his waistband, then handed it to me. I stowed it away in the pocket of the coat.

  “Then who the hell is he?” Slender asked, flanking the shorter, more muscular man.

  “Who I am is none of your concern.” I shifted the piece from Stocky to Slender. “Are you packing?”

  Slender hesitated.

  “Johnson, give it up,” Stocky said.

  Slender reached for his waist and pulled out the piece secured in the waistband of his jeans.

  “Slide it across the floor to me, and don’t think about doing anything brave or stupid.” I kept the piece trained at Stocky’s furrowed brow as Slender slid the weapon across the floor, past Stocky. I stepped on it.

  “Where are the keys to the SUV or that brown truck sitting out there?” I asked.

  Stocky shrugged. “Not sure.”

  I nodded at his waist. “Empty your pockets out now. You too, bean pole.”

  Stocky lowered his arms and shoved his hands into the pockets of the trousers he wore. Slender did the same.

  “You have no idea who you’re messing with, do you?” Stocky asked, rifling through his pockets.

  “Don’t know and don’t care,” I shot back. “Come on. Let’s see what we have there.”

  Stocky pulled his hands from both pockets, then held them up to me. He opened his bloody palms, revealing a set of keys.

  I plucked the keys from his hands, then shoved them into my pant pocket.

  “Do you have the keys to the truck?” I asked, stepping to the side of Stocky and staring back at Slender.

  “No, I do not,” he answered with his palms facing upward.

  I glanced down at the man who had been beaten to an inch of his life and shot in both knee caps. “What did he and the woman do?”

  Stocky tilted his head at the man. “He took something from my employer that we want back. The woman is incentive for him to speak.” A frantic scream sounded from upstairs, and Stocky smirked.

  I motioned with the piece, pointing it at the far wall. “Move it.”

  Stocky and Slender walked across the room, past the lantern on the floor. They stopped shy of the wall.

  “Place your hands on the backs of your heads, fingers laced, then get on your knees.” I checked the doorway for any black-clad figures or other signs of movement from the hallway.

  Stocky lowered to his knees along with Slender.

  “You’ve made a huge mistake here, pal.” Stocky glanced to the side. “You better hope—”

  I struck Stocky in the back of his skull with the piece. He fell forward, hit the wall, then crumbled to the floor. I didn’t give Slender the chance to speak and knocked him out as well. Both men lay sprawled out on the hard wood—still and motionless.

  A moan sounded from behind me.

  I backed up to the man secured to the wooden chair. Blood pumped from both bullet holes in his knees. He’d lost a good bit of blood from looking at the amount that stained his pants. His face looked swollen, his right eye sealed shut. Thin streams of blood trailed from his nose and from the corner of his lip. “Man. You must’ve pissed them off good.”

  He licked around his dry, cracked lips, then said in a weak tone, “Cindy?”

  “Is that your wife upstairs?” He nodded. I grabbed his hands. “Let me see if I can—”

  “No. Go help–her–first,” he said through shallow breaths. “I’ll be–fine.”

  I glanced at the two unconscious men on the floor, then looked up to the ceiling of the room. “All right. I’ll be right back.”

  His head slumped forward without a response. I backed away, turned, and left the room. I checked the hallway, then moved toward the stairs. The dim living room across from me showed no activity. Darkness loomed from the second floor, making
it hard to see any movement.

  My foot hit the bottom step. I stayed close to the wall and made my way up the staircase. Each plank creaked under my weight. The farther I went, the darker it got.

  I glanced down to the first floor, then peered over the banister at the hallway, checking for any more surprises. All clear.

  The faint voice of the woman lingered in the blackness, acting as a beacon for me to track her down. I hit the landing and swept the hallway. The familiar white light shone from down the hallway in the same direction of the woman’s panicked voice.

  I peered over my shoulder down the opposite end of the hall—nothing but darkness. The door next to me rattled. I flinched, and turned toward the disturbance.

  The doorknob twisted, and the door opened, revealing a shadowy figure standing in the low light.

  “Come on. Work, damn you,” the man said under his breath, slapping what looked to be a flashlight against his hand.

  A light flickered, hitting him in the face. He looked away from the bright gleam, then trained it at the hallway in my direction. A tattoo of a spider crawling out from under his jacket caught my eye. It reminded me of a past acquaintance that had similar ink. He was ruthless and dangerous.

  I walked toward him, gun fixed at his head.

  Spider blinked twice, glanced my way, then took a step back. “What the hell?”

  “How many are in the room with the woman?” I asked, holding the pistol an inch away from his head.

  His nose crinkled, brow furrowed. “What? Who—”

  A dense thud slammed the wall down the hall. I glanced toward the sound. Spider swatted my arm to the side. My finger squeezed the trigger in surprise.

  The pistol barked. Fire spat from the muzzle, framing the side of his bearded face as he looked away.

  A ringing festered in my ears. The bullet punched the wall. Spider grabbed my forearm wielding the piece, then rammed his shoulder into my chest. My finger squeezed the trigger again, firing two more rounds that hammered the floor. He drove me out into the hall toward the railing.

  My right leg buckled. I fell backward, landing on the railing. The wood cracked. Spider continued to push against me.

  I reached around his head, fish-hooked the side of his mouth, then wrenched my arm. His head twisted away from me.

  The door down the hall swung open. White light shone from the room. Shouting escaped the space and filled the tight corridor.

  Spider pushed harder, trying to force me through the railing. The wood popped.

  I jerked my arm and dug my fingernail deeper in the inside of his cheek. He released my forearm and reached for my finger that pulled on the side of his mouth. I rammed the grip of the pistol into the side of his skull twice before he let up.

  Heavy footfalls tromped from down the hall. I turned away from the railing as it broke from the wall. Spider dumped over the side to the hallway below, hitting the floor hard.

  The man from the room rushed headlong at me. I turned to face him, and brought the pistol to bear. He stopped dead in his tracks, lifted his arms into the air, then backed away.

  My ribs ached. Both knees throbbed with every step I took toward him.

  “The woman,” I said, limping my way down the hall.

  The blond-haired man pointed at the white light. The muscles in his toned arms tightened and flexed. A scowl formed on his face, much like Stocky from downstairs.

  “I’m not sure who you are, but you’re—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m making a huge mistake,” I shot back, dismissing his idle threat. “Just take me to the woman, now.”

  Blondie pursed his lips, then shook his head. He backtracked down the hall to the open doorway, eyes fixed on me and every move I made.

  I kept the piece trained at his chest. My free hand pressed against my aching ribs. The mask suffocated me, making it difficult to breathe, but I didn’t remove it.

  The whimpering of the battered woman grew louder as Blondie passed by the room.

  “That’s far enough right there,” I said, stopping him on the other side of the door.

  I peered inside the room while keeping an eye on Blondie. The woman crouched and huddled in the far corner of the empty space. Her tiny, meager frame trembled with fright. Long strands of brown hair draped over the side of her face. She looked upon me with terror, and sunk further into the wall.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she said, shielding her head with her arms. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  I glanced over to Blondie who kept his sights locked on me. “Takes a big man to hit a woman.”

  He shrugged. “One does what—”

  I punched him square in the face. His head snapped back. He lowered his arms and palmed his nose.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Cindy? Can you move?” I said, staring at Blondie.

  She lowered her arm, then stood. Her frame trembled as she looked at me with glassy eyes. “Who are you?”

  “No time for that. Just come on,” I answered, short and direct.

  Cindy took a step forward, then stopped. She glanced at the side of the door where Blondie stood.

  “He isn’t going to touch you. I promise,” I said.

  She walked across the room with her arms wrapped across her chest. The light washed over her face, revealing swollen, red eyes and a busted lip. Dried blood ran from the corner of her mouth and down to her chin.

  I moved away from the doorway to the far wall, allowing her space to get out of the room. The piece stayed locked on Blondie’s chest. He glanced at her from over his hand that palmed his nose.

  Cindy slipped past him, sliding across the scuffed door to the dark hallway. Blondie removed his hand, then spat a wad of blood to the floor, watching her every move. I held out my arm, then stepped in front of her, shielding her from him.

  “I’ll be seeing you soon,” Blondie said, pointing at her. “This cowboy here just cost you a whole lot more than you realize.”

  Cindy stayed behind me, holding her tongue.

  Blondie looked at me. “As for you, I’m going to enjoy picking you apart. You’re as good as dead.”

  “You’ll have to get in line.” I lowered the piece toward the floor and placed a round in the top of his foot.

  Cindy grabbed my coat, digging her fingernails into the fabric. Blondie shouted, and fell against the wall as he reached for his foot. I hammered the side of his face with the piece, knocking him to the floor. He hit face first, arms out to his sides.

  “William,” Cindy muttered under her breath. She released my coat, turned, then bolted down the hallway.

  “Hold on, wait a second,” I said, backing away from Blondie.

  Cindy rushed down the corridor, past the missing railing to the landing. I trailed behind her, limping as fast as I could. She grabbed the banister and stormed down the stairs to the first floor.

  Damn it.

  I leaned against the wall and used it like a crutch, working my way down each step as fast as I could. She hit the landing and ran into the room where William sat bound to his chair. Cindy’s pleas escaped the room, growing louder with each second that ticked by.

  I swept the hallway next to the staircase, then over to the living room as I hobbled to the landing. Spider’s body remained still—prone on a bed of busted wood from the railing.

  William’s head bobbled about as if fixed on a spring.

  Cindy had her hands pressed to both sides of his face to keep it steady and trained on her. “William. Hang in there. Stay with me. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  I limped inside the room, lowering my pistol to my side.

  “Please help him,” she said, peering around his limp body at me. “He needs medical attention, now. He’s losing a lot of blood.”

  “We need to get those zip ties off him first.” I checked the pockets of the coat for a knife or anything else of use, but found nothing. I walked over to Stocky and Slender and patted them down.

  “William,” Cin
dy said, raising her voice. “Come on. Open your eyes and answer me.”

  The two unconscious men had nothing of use in their pockets. I stood and walked over to Cindy who smacked the side of William’s face.

  “Open your eyes, damn you.” Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, and dripped from her chin. She smacked him again, then lowered her head.

  His head dangled forward. No hint of life lingered from his beaten body. I pressed my fingers to the side of his neck, checking for a pulse. I moved my fingers about, struggling to find one.

  Cindy hammered his chest with her balled fist, bawling and sniffling. Her hands fell to his thighs.

  The floor creaked in the hall, and I turned toward the subtle noise.

  Spider stood in the doorway with a heater trained at me. Blood ran from a gash on the side of his head and down his face.

  A sharp report sounded from the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. A lone round punched Spider’s bicep, knocking him off balance. His brow furrowed, and his nose crinkled. A painful yell escaped his mouth as he stumbled backward.

  Cindy jerked her head away from William’s lap, then gasped. She peered at the hall with her mouth open, eyes wide.

  A low growl loomed from the hallway. Heavy footfalls charged forward. A mass of dark fur tackled Spider, knocking him to the floor. The canine thrashed its head, tugging on Spider’s forearm. He screamed and yelled, kicking his legs at the large dog.

  I walked toward the hall with a firm hold around the grip of the piece, watching Shadow tug and wrench his arm.

  “Get this damn mutt off me,” Spider said, his voice rising in volume.

  Anna materialized past the doorway with her Glock up and at the ready. She slipped past Shadow, staring at Spider, then over to me. The Glock trained at my chest and a worried look washed over her face.

  I lowered the piece, then threw my hand in the air. “Whoa. It’s me.”

  Anna kept her weapon locked on my chest. “Lawson?”

  I pulled the hood of the coat back, then removed the mask. “Yeah.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” Anna breathed a sigh of relief, then lowered her weapon. “Why are you dressed like that, and what’s going on here?”

  “I’ll tell you later, and I’m not really sure, to be honest,” I answered.