No Time To Mourn
Jake sat in front of the three kids, his eyes were locked on the door, and he wasn’t moving. It was as if by instinct that was Jake stood guard, the fearless K-9 was a stone sentry guarding priceless treasure. Jake kept a low growl as if at any moment someone was about to burst in and harm them. The kids huddled in the far corner of Jordan’s room by the window. Cody was scared. Jordan knew Cody would never admit that fact. A day ago the guy was beating Jordan and now he sat trembling behind Jordan and Jenna as if the two were going to protect him. He had been the same way in the face of danger back at the school.
Jenna sat at attention. She was the closest to the window so she glanced from the window to the door. She too was expecting someone to come through. She then looked back to the window once more. She had a constant nervous tic. She kept looking in either direction. Door to window. Window to door. Her constant peering out the window had Jordan curious.
He quickly leapt from his crouched position to peer over Jenna’s shoulder and out the window. What he saw frightened him. Three cars were parked out front. Two men stepped out of one car and joined a group on the sidewalk on the far side of the street facing the house. One man in a green prison suit waved a hand and the two convicts that had just joined the group ran up on the porch, into the house, and out of sight. He quickly sat back down. He didn’t want to be seen.
“I wish someone could help us.” Cody said in a shaking voice. He hugged his knees. His large body was smashed into the corner of the wall.
“Well if they can’t,” Jordan got up and walked across his room and opened the closet. He had to dive deep, digging and clawing through clutter. He pulled two baseball bats (one was aluminum and the other a Louisville slugger, his personal favorite) and a nine iron from the dark recess of clothes, various sporting items, and a small mountain of other objects that were impossible to make out in the moonlit shadowy closet.
“We’re going to have to help ourselves out.”
Jordan threw the nine iron to Cody. It landed just before his feet. The large clumsy boy looked at the makeshift weapon with a perplexing awe; he glared as if the whole idea of defending himself was insurmountable. Jordan then handed the aluminum ball bat to Jenna.
She took it quickly and again took a swift glance out of the window. "I just wish my dad was up here and not down there. I hope he is okay." A tear welled in her eye but it was wiped quickly making sure no one took notice.
Jake began to growl which immediately made Jordan aware. There were footsteps outside. Jake rose to all fours with his head lowered. His hair along his spine stood on end. His mouth went from a fury tan to bone white. His growl soon lowered till it sounded as if came from his stomach. Jordan knew that Jake's behaviour was a tale tell sign that someone was about to enter the room.
He raised his bat over his shoulder and crouched; he was ready to swing at a moment’s notice. The boy raised a finger to his mouth indicated for the other two to be silent. Jenna raised to a crouch, tightened her grip on the weapon, and nodded to an understanding of noiselessness. Cody on the other hand maintained no alertness. He was baffled and frightened. Away from his parents and with people he didn’t know. Cody now lived in a sense of constant anxiety. The same fear that plagued him back at school has resurfaced. The large child held his legs and formed an upright fetal position and withdrew further into the corner of the room. His shaking bones and whimpering sobs were loud against the silence.
The doorknob twisted. Time seemed to stand still. The room was silent (even Jake quit growling as if he didn’t want be discovered until he attacked) and everyone had their eyes on the door. They were tense and holding their breath. Jordan didn’t know if he could kill someone but he knew he could hit them hard enough to get everyone out of the room. Suddenly the door creaked open slowly. Fingers appeared around the edge of the door pushing it open even further. Jordan tightened his grip and raised his bat a little higher once the door opened. Emerging from the door was Marilyn.
Jordan dropped his bat and ran. “Mom,” he reached his mother and she leaned on him almost using him for support. “Are you ok? What happened to you?” The kids stepped back, perplexed by her appearance. Her clothes were soaked with blood and her hair was strained. She walked with a slump in her shoulder and a bruise was just forming around her neck.
“I’ll be alright.” She turned and hugged him and with her free hand while she closed the door gently.
Downstairs Michael lay face up on his back hammering the large man’s face from the ground up. The large man returned the blows equally. Michael had already been in a car wreck obtaining a bum knee, he had been shot at the gas station causing his shoulder to ache with every move, and it wasn’t twenty minutes before this encounter he had been kicked so many times by an unknown assailant who could have been a mule incarnate with that kind of power behind his legs. So needless to say Michael was running on fumes with pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew everyone was upstairs depending on his protection. Including his daughter. Above all else Michael would force himself to power through, for Jenna's sake.
He dug in deep and pounded the man’s face. Rob came from the hallway around the corner and into the living room. Michael didn’t know what had taken him so long (most likely afraid of confrontation). Rob pulled the man's head down and began to bring his elbow down on the back of the man’s head. He keep a steady pounding with his elbow. Michael was grateful for Rob's sudden appearance and menial attempt at an elbow strike because it distracted the brute just long enough to reach his ankle where he had put his hide-away pistol. The grunting man laid a solid punch in Rob’s stomach and Rob melted into the floor while yelling something unrecognizable at the floored man. When the large man turned back Michael had a small gun directly in his face. Michael quickly pulled the trigger. The man fell limp on top of Michael. He pushed on the heavy brute but to no avail. His good arm was pinned down to his side and he was forced to push all the weight off with his bad shoulder. When he applied full pressure with his arm a pain occurred that seemed to reverberate through his whole body. He saw Rob stirring.
“Rob get up.” Michael waited as Rob groaned.
“I need your help. Come on, get up.” With little movement on Rob’s part Michael had to give up because two men had just entered the open front door. Michael could hear more people behind them but their voices weren’t getting closer so he decided he could deal with just two for now.
Michael relaxed and laid lifeless and flaccid. Playing possum when you are this beat up is the most relaxation I’ve had since the bombs. Michael had drifted in thought. The two walked into the house. To Michael’s amazement they wore the prison jumpsuits. Michael had come to understand that the prison jumpsuit meant nothing but trouble. He kept his eye open just enough to glimpse at the two but not to give himself away.
“Look Marcus, Jesse said we would find Rob here.” The light skinned convict said to his darker equal.
“Well I wonder what happened to him,” The man known as Marcus bent down to analyze Rob. “Hey Rob get up man. You don’t look shot.” Both men grabbed the groaning scrawny man. He yelled in pain once he was forced to stretch his hurt abdomen upright.
“You will be ok,” the white suited man said. Both men put his arms around his shoulder and began to carry him to the door as if he were a hurt family member. Michael listened intently.
“You did a great job of pinpointing their location. Big John over there must have thought you flaked and decided to help them.”
They pointed in his direction during the conversation so Michael stopped his breathing to force his body completely still. Michael couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Rob was a spy. He set them up. Could these convict be that sophisticated? That tactical? They were well organized enough to be able to set up a plan like this on the first day of the bombs meant only one thing. There had to be someone important and very educated giving the orders. Was it this recurring Jesse guy? Or was he an underling to a more intellige
nt mind?
“You know we have been following them since we left the gas station earlier. But we lost them in this maze of houses. Those assholes put up a hell of a fight.” The two men talked as Rob hung limp on their shoulders.
“I appreciate you getting one of their two way radios as well.” The black man said.
“Sucks you couldn’t get away from the one guy until you had to help move cars? What was all that about?” The other asked.
Michael had heard enough. As they were walking away he aimed his pistol and with two simple shots the foes were down and with no support Rob crumbled to the ground again. The rat squirmed. How could he deceive them the way he did. Michael could have killed him at first sight. Rob’s insignificant elbows to the large man’s head was probably just another attempt further his image of espionage and the man played his part so good. Knowing just what to say and just how to act for each situation; the skinny dark haired man was a master of acting and rhetoric.
Anyhow Michael had no time to think or worry about that snake. His main goal now was figuring out how to deal with the convicts outside who had seen their associates drop. Michael used his bad arm and shoulder trying his best to suck it up and ignore the pain. He wedged his arm beneath the floor and the large over-encumbering visceral creature. He winced as he began pushing on the behemoth. His arm was in serious pain but he was a race against the clock because he knew his cover was blown so he was trapped if he stayed under the brute they would come in and put a bullet right in his head and leave him lying there. He pushed hard almost screaming out, he tried snubbing out the pain by thinking of the relief he would feel once he is free of the huge man's weight. He started to move the mass. There was no telling how many more were about to burst through the doorway. He gave a huge push causing a searing pain to shoot through his body again but effectively getting the man off of his body. A sensation of blissful relief coursed through his body. There was no more pressure pinning him to the floor. He had no time to appreciate his new found freedom. He quickly backed up to the wall. He could hear footsteps outside and they were getting closer very quickly. Once he felt the wall he pushed against it helping himself to his feet.
Even Michael himself knew he was in a bad way. He felt his face oozing and his aching body was only bearable due to the enormous amount of adrenaline he was being fueled by. He knew his little girl was as good as gone if he didn’t at least hold out until Jack got back. If Jack ever did get back. Michael thought to himself. His body ached but he did what he had to. He dug deep and leaned against the wall. He stood in the hallway behind the wall peeking around waiting for an intruder. He was facing the stairs so he could shoot anyone going up the stairs. He had four shots left out of his six round chamber. He had to make them count and he would deal with the rest.
The first person came through. To Michael’s surprise he didn't wear any of the prisoner’s suits. He seemed like an average citizen. He carried a gun and Michael knew he was with the others so he aimed. He fired once and the man quit his search around the room and fell to the ground. Two more came through (these two happened to wear the trademark jumpsuit) and two more shots were fired. Both hit but there was only one kill shot. The other bullet happened to find its way into the calf of one intruder. The former prisoner crawled toward the stairs. He cursed himself for wasting a bullet. He only had one bullet left and he could hear a lot of commotion outside. He thought there could be another four of five people outside.
Two more people erupted through the doorway. Both had guns. He watched as the one with a shot leg scrambled up the stairs. “I’m going upstairs I saw someone staring down. There is someone in the hall. Watch out.” The squirming man pointed at Michael to warn his comrades as he disappeared up to the next level.
The two men pushed over the couch and two end tables and used them as cover. Michael waited patiently. He kept an eye on them and saved his last shot. Suddenly one popped his head up to see where Michael was taking cover. The convict saw Michael’s head peeking out from behind of the doorway. The man unleashed a barrage of shots until his clip was empty. All of his bullets had hit the wall Michael hid behind but none had penetrated. As expected the man took the bait and once his tantrum was over Michael moved around and shot the man square in the head. He then began to run toward the other man.
The convict still behind the overturned couch watched his fellow attacker fall to the floor with his face frozen in time. Then he too was taken down. The convict who held his gun at the ready was about to shoot but as quickly as he heard the footsteps Michael was on him. He hit the man with such force that he was knocked to the ground from his crouched position. Michael presumed to pulverize the convict’s face with the butt of his gun. Blood erupted from the man’s nose. The bridge of his nose began to sink into his face. His good arm in full force, again and again. Panting Michael sat back and looked at his new creation. The man's face was now a bloody sinkhole. The monster was out. The pain was horrid but Michael managed to crack a smile. The monster that was now Michael vowed to do the same to Rob if the opportunity presents itself again. A feeling had filled Michael. He suddenly could think clearly. His body ached but he knew what it took to survive and that was to be ruthless to the point of savagery. This is the only way and Michael still had his life to prove it. His physical condition just wasn’t on the same level as his brain.
Michael threw his bloody gun to the ground. He sat next to the bodies panting. His body was tired. He ached in many places. He rubbed his neck and groaned. He tried to stand up and made it halfway only to fall back to square one. His shoulder was stiff, irritably raw, and tender to the touch. He moved to the front door frame and leaned his good shoulder against it. He pushed and used the wall to help himself up. He didn’t know how much further he could go. Every move seemed to sear his entire body with pain. He had to keep going.
The whole time his mind stayed on the fact that Marilyn and the kids were upstairs and he had to keep them safe. His daughter depended on him. He stood and trying his best to ignore the searing agony as he picked up one of the guns lying about. He checked the magazine. Full clip. He leaned around the open doorway and peered into the front yard. There were two groups of people. Some wearing prison suits and others in normal garb. There were eight in total. There were a number of cars in the street. Are you kidding me? Where are these people coming from? Michael asked himself. He breathed heavily. He rubbed his ribs and began to form a game plan. He could tell the people outside were catching on to the fact that sending the small groups of intruders wasn’t getting the job done. Michael watched the entire group (except for two tan suited prison uniform wearers and the one he knew to be Jesse) advance toward the house. Michael wasn’t intimidated by the approaching mass. He was in fact intimidated of his own body shutting down. There was an uncertainty if his body could even hold out long enough to deal with everyone on the lawn. He was lightheaded and knew he was running on pure desperation. His mental capacity has never been more clear but his body had taken a beating.
He had to try to take the group out. He waited for them to get within range. He aimed his gun but his concentration was loudly broken by unexpected gunshots from the kitchen. Michael had no clue why or how those shots could have occurred. Moments later the man who had kicked boxed his ribs into pudding moments earlier appeared from the hallway. Michael watched the man shoot twice and hit an advancing convict. Michael kept his eyes on this man. Yet another distraction. He had to get upstairs to his daughter.
The guy quickly lowered his gun. “How many are out there?” The guy shouted in a thick British accent.
Michael had to take a moment to absorb everything. “Eight or more.” He couldn’t think straight due to the damage his body had taken, the pain had finally started to cloud his judgement. He realized the man was trying to help him but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go that route so soon after getting burned only moments earlier. Michael heard a scream come from upstairs. He snapped a look of worry in the direction of the
sound and then back at the Brit. He couldn’t make out whose voice had made the scream but it didn’t matter someone was in trouble and he needed to get to them. The man jumped across the couch and standing next to Michael he fired a couple of shots out of the front door. Michael didn’t back away or flinch instinctively when he approached. Either due to lack of physical ability or he didn’t mean Michael any harm whatsoever. Regardless Michael didn’t have time to ponder if he should or shouldn’t trust the man because he had to get to his daughter.
“Go.” The man shouted and continued to fire out the door. The kicking maniac looked back toward the kitchen making sure no other intruders came from that entrance.
Without hesitation Michael (to the best of his ability) sprinted upstairs after tossing his gun to his new ally. He would need it. The British man continued his barrage on the front lawn. He quickly aimed with well enough precision to meet fifty percent of his targets. He took cover by the door once a few bullets flew a little too close for comfort. He reached around and fired until his gun was empty. He then emptied Michael's gun. He threw it down and reached for one of the stray pistols that littered the ground. He fired it but that one was empty as well. He reached for another and with the gun in firing order he aimed and shot. After being attacked himself, he had to obtain more guns. This man figured the best way to get weapons was to go directly to where the sounds came from. He kept up their barrage. He could tell that these “attackers” were poorly trainer and hastily gathered. There was no coordination among them. There were no leaders among the advancing intruders. He would fire a shot and they would do whatever they could to get out of harm's way and stay hidden until they think they could advance to a clear shot. He fired at one skinny man and he tried to pull the person next to him in front of the bullet. Just so happened the bullet was faster. Needless to say these scary assailants were pussies.
Those rampaging criminals had numbers on their side. The British man didn’t know how many bullets he had left or how many guns with bullets were left on the ground. He would shoot three out of four people but more just seemed to appear. It was like the whole prison just walked up to these people’s house and started attacking. They had him pinned in his cover. He couldn’t peek around and shoot because as soon as one prisoner shot another would pop up and shoot. It was a chain and they weren’t breaking it. They were going to shoot him or wear a hole in the wall until they shot him. As scared as they were they kept advancing. There was a small group standing back that seemed to be giving all the orders which weren’t many. He wanted to empty his clip on the newly arrived convicts that hadn’t yet reached the front lawn but the four who were still on the lawn did a swell job of not even letting him get his hand around the side for a blind shot.
No Time To Mourn Page 20
