Kate got out of bed and walked over to the closet. She reached it just as Alex emerged, holding the shotgun in one hand and a box of shotgun shells in the other. He leaned the shotgun against the wall and removed four shotgun shells from the box. Kate stared at the shells, shaking her head. He grabbed the shotgun and efficiently slid each shell into the underside loading breech.
“Four rounds should do it. I really don’t want to hurt him, but enough is enough.”
He walked down the hallway to the stairs, Kate following closely behind.
“Hon, there’s probably a reason he’s here. Don’t just go out and shoot him. He hasn’t bothered us in a while, and if he wanted to break a window, he could have done it by now. He’s probably out of his mind. Maybe he lost another one of his kids. Imagine how you would feel?”
Alex started down the stairs, stopped halfway and replied. “What am I supposed to do, let him vent a little? Thanks for laying that guilt on me, but I am not going to sit around and be thankful that he hasn’t hit a window yet. Maybe he’ll take a shot at the solar panels. I am going out there to put an end to this. All of it.”
He paused before continuing, “I am going to do everything in my power not to use this. Just keep the kids away from the windows.”
“Take it easy on him.”
“I’m gonna knock some sense into him, and if that fails—”
Once in the kitchen, Alex got a bottle of water from the pantry, took a long drink, setting the bottle on the kitchen island. He skipped the snow pants and slipped right into his insulated boots, contemplating the snowshoes stacked in the small study adjacent to the mudroom. He was not sure how much snow last night’s storm had dropped, but figured it to be at least an additional foot. Given the effort it had taken to move across the yards the night before, he seriously considered using them, but ultimately decided against it.
He’d need mobility when he reached Todd, even if it meant trudging through snow. Alex also decided against a winter jacket, not wanting to wear anything bulky that could get in his way. He had no idea what he might have to do out there.
Worst case, I’ll have to drag a corpse off my property.
He pulled a black watch cap tightly over his ears and stepped into the library to check the old fashioned bulb thermometer just outside the window. He caught a glimpse of Todd in a short sleeved shirt standing behind the garage and ducked.
The thermometer read thirteen degrees Fahrenheit, and he saw gusts of wind shake snow from the pine trees in the backyard. Todd must be freezing out there.
Leaving his jacket behind, he grabbed one of the radios, but quickly changed his mind and put it back into the recharging cradle. The last thing he wanted was Kate chiming in.
Alex slung the shotgun over his shoulder and disassembled the planks and cans sitting on the stool in front of the door leading to the garage. Despite seeing all three of the Manson crew dead, he had recommended that they keep the sound contraptions in place at night until they felt completely comfortable with the situation in the neighborhood and the greater Portland area.
The warm steam of his breath puffed in the cold garage, causing Alex to instantly regret not putting on a coat. Todd appeared through the back garage door window. The loud clunk of another object hitting the wall startled him. Alex turned the deadbolt slowly until he heard the distinct release of the lock.
Alex pulled the door inward and stepped outside, slamming it closed behind him as a strong gust of wind pelted his face. His glare returned to Todd, who stood knee deep in snow, wearing faded blue jeans and an old Boston Red Socks T-Shirt. Todd had lost a considerable amount of weight and looked crazed. Only Todd’s footprints were visible in the freshly fallen snow. And no other neighbors appeared to be out yet.
Todd seemed oblivious to his presence and picked up another solid object from a blue duffel bag at his feet. He cocked his arm back and hurled it at the side of the house. THUNK! Alex started walking toward him, but movement proved difficult in the snow bank behind the garage. A considerable drift had developed overnight, and Alex fought his way toward Todd. Todd never looked at him. Instead, he leaned over, reached into the duffel bag again and pulled out a baseball.
When he bent over to reach into the bag, Alex caught sight of something tucked into his jeans, but the object disappeared before he could figure out what it might be. He thought that it may have been the wooden handle of a revolver, but as far as he knew, Todd did not own a firearm.
Todd pulled his arm back, aiming at the house again. However, instead of throwing it at the house, he suddenly pivoted his left foot, stepped toward Alex, and whipped the ball at Alex’s head. At twenty feet, he didn’t have much time to react, barely moving his head as the ball sailed past and struck the side of the garage with a much louder smack than anything else he’d heard this morning. Alex fought every instinct to point the shotgun at Todd. At that range and speed, the ball could have killed him.
“Todd, what’s going on here? I thought we had an understanding,” Alex said.
Todd responded in a barely audible tone. “They’re all piled up inside the bulkhead door, frozen. The animals can’t get to them there. All I have left is Jordan. I’m sorry about this, Alex.”
When he finished speaking, Alex took in a deep breath of freezing air and let it out with a sigh.
“Oh no, Todd, I’m sorry, I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”
Todd didn’t reply. He just stared at Alex. Bloodshot and glazed, his desperate brown eyes strained deep in their sockets. Todd’s mouth twisted into a disturbed grin, which, combined with months of unkempt facial growth, made him look completely unstable. Todd barely resembled the man he had been in early October. Several weeks of starvation, fear, and perpetual tragedy had dragged him to the brink of existence.
He continued to stare intently at Alex, then spoke again. “I didn’t really have a choice, Alex. I’m…”
When Todd’s right hand slowly moved behind his right hip to the small of his back, Alex shouldered the shotgun. The motion was swift, and within a fraction of a second, Todd had a shotgun pointed at his head. The sudden movement surprised Todd, and he furtively moved his hand back around to the front of his thigh. His hand was empty.
Alex racked the slide mechanism on the shotgun, chambering a shell into the chamber. The safety made a soft click as it moved into the off position. The barrel of the shot gun pointed directly at Todd’s chest.
“Time to go, Todd, one way or the other.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Todd said.
Todd reached down to pick up another object out of the duffel bag. It looked like a large rock to Alex.
“Suit yourself,” Alex mumbled.
An image of Todd’s daughter, Jordan, flashed through his head, deflating his anger.
Todd’s eyes flickered left, and Alex simultaneously caught movement in his peripheral vision. His first instinct was to pull the trigger. Todd set him up, and if the trap was set right, it might be his only chance of killing at least one of his attackers. Or he could swing the shotgun barrel to the left and try to engage what he assumed was the more pressing threat. Since neither option kept him alive for long, he charged Todd, hoping for the best.
One of the pine trees on the edge of the Thompons’ yard exploded, shedding most of its snow. A distinct snap passed behind him. Todd reacted hastily and whipped the rock at Alex, which glanced off his right arm. Alex closed the gap before he could turn and run, striking a blow to the upper left side of Todd’s head with the butt of the shotgun. The impact dropped him instantly.
Before he could turn the shotgun toward the Thompsons’ yard, the tree exploded again. A sledgehammer-like blow struck his upper left torso, spinning him ninety degrees and knocking him off his feet. He landed on his side; his face jammed straight into the fresh drift. He lay there physically stunned, but acutely aware that he no longer held the Mossberg. A wave of fear and helplessness gripped Alex as he thought about his family.
Al
ex tried to slide his elbow out from under his body, with the intention of using it to lift himself off his side, but got no response from his arm. He shook the wet snow from his face and glanced at his shoulder, seeing bright crimson stains spattered in the snow. A deeper stain started to melt through the snow piled around his shoulder.
Straining to lift his head to look for the source of the gunfire, he hoped this involuntary prone position had given him some cover from the shooter. The small rise between the Thompsons’ yard and his own might be enough to keep him out of the shooter’s sights long enough to recover the shotgun. Despair overcame him at the sight of a brown camouflage patterned baseball cap rising above the snow.
Manson came into view aiming a pump action shotgun at his head. He held the shotgun in the crook of his right arm, with his left hand on the trigger, apparently unable to raise the shotgun to his shoulder. He quickly determined why. Manson’s right arm was wrapped in a makeshift, reddish-brown stained sling. Alex clawed at the snow with his right hand as he casually closed the distance, keeping the shotgun trained on him the whole time.
A surged of adrenaline enabled Alex to roll onto his back, freeing his arm. He tried to use the arm again, but only managed to shift the useless arm over his thigh.
Sharp, stabbing pain raced through his shoulder, radiating down his arm.
Mason grinned wickedly, as Alex fumbled in the snow with his right arm—desperately searching for his weapon.
“You ain’t anywhere close. Your little pop gun’s by your feet. Nice one, too. I think I’ll add it to my collection”.
A wave of helplessness washed over him as the man walked up to his feet, towering over his nearly unresponsive body. He focused on Manson’s cold, blue eyes, harboring no delusions of being spared.
“Wondering how I’m still around?” he asked and squatted in front of Alex.
Alex nodded once, his mental acuity fading as the pain in his shoulder spiked. He thought about the garage door and was thankful that he hadn’t unlocked the door handle from the inside, knowing the lock would slow Manson down, even for a short time.
“Hurts like a bitch. Don’t it? Hurt like hell when I got hit last night, but I was a lucky son of a bitch. Bullet passed right through. In and out. Still dropped me like a rock though. Once I got my senses, I crawled as far as I could into the yard before I heard you coming back to finish me off.
“You should’ve let your buddy put one in the back of my head. You were pretty much right though. I wasn’t going anywhere lying face down in the snow, and I sure as heck couldn’t have crawled back. But I got lucky again. My sister-in-law was hiding by the Hayes’ deck with a shotgun. She came looking for us when the shooting started. Of course, she had no idea that her husband’s brains were splattered on the side of that house just twenty feet away, or that you’d shot her son in cold blood. If she’d known that…who knows what might’ve happened? After you left, she dragged me all the way back to our house…”
“Not your house,” Alex grunted.
“It’s my house now,” he said and kicked Alex’s leg. “Anyway, my wife did a couple of years in the ER at Good Samaritan before the kids came along. Came in real handy last night. It’s almost like I got a guardian angel keeping watch over me.” He sneered.
“Lucky me,” Alex said, and Manson responded by viciously kicking his left thigh.
“Kept my little nephew alive, too, though he’ll probably never be able to use one of his hands again. Skimmed one off his head, too, but that should heal up fine. I knew you were all business, but I didn’t think you had it in you to blast away at kids.”
I should have gone over there and finished everyone off.
“What was that? Nothing? Well, we’re gonna need some serious medical supplies and plenty of food to recover,” he said and glanced in the direction of Alex’s house. “Shouldn’t be a problem now that we’ve found ourselves a new home.”
Alex looked at his house and tried to say something, but the words faltered. Waves of fear, nausea and regret filled him.
Manson glanced over at Todd’s slack body. “You did a good job on Todd. I didn’t expect that at all. For a second, I thought this might not go my way. But…here we are, Alex. Ain’t so chatty now, are you? Don’t fade out on me!” he said, kicking one of Alex’s feet.
Alex struggled to talk, and the pain in his shoulder slowly subsided. Neither development was a good sign.
“Everyone knows. It’s only a matter of time before they come for you,” Alex said.
“Before what? The cops show up? Haven’t seen much of them lately, have you? Besides, you think they’ll put up much of a fight against that assault rifle you got locked up in there? Heck, by the time they show up for real, we’ll be long gone. Fact is, there’s a new sheriff on the block, and nobody’s gonna mess with him.”
Todd stirred again. Without warning, Manson pointed the shotgun at Todd and fired.
Manson pumped the shotgun, ejecting an empty red shotgun shell, which sizzled when it hit the snow near Alex’s head.
“No need for him anymore.”
He kept the shotgun in his left hand, pointed at the ground. “I’m not seeing much need for you either, although I might need a little leverage to keep that wife of yours from blasting away at me.”
“Either way she’ll take your head off.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he said, flashing a sickly pleasant smile at the house. “Up on your feet, soldier. We have some work to do.”
“Marine,” Alex corrected.
“Whatever. Get off the ground,” Manson ordered.
“No.”
“Get off the ground, or I’ll kill every last one of them. Or worse,” he said with a scowl.
“You’ll just have to take your chances against an assault rifle and my wife. Good luck. She wanted to kill all of you days ago,” Alex said dryly.
“Sounds like my kinda woman. Maybe we’ll spend some quality time together,” he whispered, followed by a scream. “Now get the up!”
Alex shook his head slowly.
“I’ll leave them all alone if you walk into that house with me. I don’t have a problem with them,” he said in a calmer voice.
“Just like you didn’t have a problem with the Hayes’ kids?” Alex asked.
Manson flashed a wicked smile and relaxed his stance. “You and me ain’t that different…Alex. We’re both just doing whatever it takes to keep our people safe. I’ll kill every person on this block before I let my family suffer.”
“Looks like you’re off to a good start,” Alex muttered.
“What, you think you’re different? The only difference between you and me is that I don’t have the choice to sit around. I gotta hunt for my family. I’m a predator now, Alex.”
“You should get your own Animal Planet show,” Alex said quietly.
“Think about this, smart guy. How many people around here have you killed by doing nothing? You’re like those Germans that lived around the gas camps. Just ignored what was happening,” Manson said.
“Bad analogy.”
“Time to get up. You tell them everything’ll work out just fine.”
“Can I get another one of your history lessons instead?” Alex asked.
“Look here, one way or the other the house is mine. We can do this the easy way, or the very, very hard way. I promise I’ll make it horrible for them,” Manson threatened.
“Good luck.”
“Fine.” Manson braced the shotgun in the crook of his right arm and swung it toward him. Alex turned his head slightly to the left and looked up at the nearest bedroom window, hoping his family would not witness his assassination.
Mercifully, all he saw in the window was the muted reflection of a dull gray sky. As he turned to face his executioner, the bottom right pane of the window shattered. A warm spray hit Alex’s face, and Manson dropped to his left knee; a substantial, jagged exit wound in the back of Manson’s left thigh. Supersonic cracks filled the air as the snow betw
een the two men erupted skyward.
The enraged killer twisted toward the house and fired the shotgun, obliterating the top windowpane. As the ear-shattering drum of the AR-15 rifle ceased, Manson fired the shotgun again, striking the grey siding several inches below the window. Alex tried to get up in the snow, desperate to reach his shotgun, which lay just a few feet away. He’d managed to almost reach the shotgun with his fingertips, by the time Manson turned to face him.
The distinct snap of a single bullet passed over Alex’s head, punching a small red hole between the Manson’s eyes. Manson grunted incoherently and dropped face first into the snowdrift, as the sound of a second single gunshot echoed through the backyard. Alex gently lowered himself down onto his back. He looked up at the window and saw both Ryan and Kate peer down.
“Oh no!” she yelled and disappeared.
“Yeah. I’m…I’m going to need some help,” he mumbled to himself and dropped his head all the way back onto the snow.
Alex heard snow crunching behind his head, from the direction of the Walkers’ yard and twisted his body to the right, writhing in the snow toward his shotgun.
“Alex! Alex! Take it easy. It’s me, Charlie,” he heard. He relaxed and twisted his head back around. The crunching got closer as Charlie bore down on him, holding an assault rifle similar to his own, and knelt in the snow by his head.
He heard someone else approaching from the direction of Ed’s house and tried to contort his body to get a better view.
“It’s just Ed. You need to lie still until we figure out what to do. You took a hit to your left shoulder,” Charlie said and slung the rifle over his shoulder.
A few seconds later, Ed arrived, holding a .22 caliber bolt-action rifle in his right hand. He stood over Charlie, staring at Manson’s body first, then Todd’s.
“Did I hit him?” Ed asked in a daze.
“Right between the eyes. He was dead before I got around the corner. I wanted to kill that jerk myself. Nice shooting,” Charlie said.
“I can’t believe I actually hit him. I haven’t fired this thing in forever,” Ed said.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 35
