Broken Tide | Book 6 | Breakwater

by Richardson, Marcus

  "There’ll be plenty of time for that, now that you're home," Cami said as she squeezed his arm and headed for the door. "Right now, the neighborhood’s under attack—or something—and we've got to make sure nothing falls apart."

  "So, you're like the leader or something?" Reese asked with a smile as he followed her out to the deck.

  Flynt and the guards remained in position by the half-finished log wall, and kept a close eye on the woods. He turned and frowned at her. “Cami, what are you doing?”

  "Something like that," Cami said over her shoulder to Reese. She turned back to the tree line. “Darien, what’s going on back here?”

  "It's all quiet," he said as he looked at them. "Whatever's going on, it's concentrated on the north and east side of the neighborhood. You want me to pull some people from here and go reinforce the squads on the other side?"

  Cami narrowed her eyes at the forest. "I don't know…something tells me we haven't seen the last of the action on this side of the neighborhood, yet."

  "Agreed." Flynt looked at Reese and back at Cami. "Want me to send a runner for a status report?"

  "Sounds like a good idea. Send somebody fast," Cami said.

  She turned back to Reese as Flynt issued orders, and one of the men standing guard took off at a sprint around the corner of the house.

  Reese shook his head. "Yeah…I have a feeling there's one heck of a story y'all are going to have to tell me."

  "That goes for you too, mister,” Cami said with an affectionate poke at his chest. "Jo gave us a big picture of what you two went through since the tsunami hit. Reese," Cami said suddenly, "I'm so sorry about Ben." She hugged him once more.

  Reese nodded, his voice muffled by her hair. "I am, too…it’s been a rough trip…”

  Gunfire crackled closer than before, and Reese stepped away from Cami to lean around the house. "The redoubt is a nice touch…when was that put in?"

  "I'll tell you later,” Cami snapped. “What's going on over there?" She moved back toward the house and reached inside the door.

  "Looks like a couple fires over on the new side of the neighborhood,” Reese reported. He pulled back from the corner and looked at her. “People running every which way in our front yard.”

  Flynt came up on the deck and joined them. “Here," he said as he leaned into the kitchen doorway. "Now that you’re home, I think you ought to be the one to have this,” he said as he emerged with the stainless steel shotgun he’d used during the hurricane.

  Reese nodded his thanks and took the weapon from Flynt. "Much appreciated. I can't tell you how many times I dreamt about having this with me over the past month. Sure woulda made things a lot easier at times…”

  "I can only—” Flynt began, but his words were cut off in a staccato burst of rapid gunfire that erupted from the far side of the house. People screamed, and two residents sprinted toward the woods, unarmed.

  As Cami watched, horrified, another gunshot barked, and one of the men tumbled into a heap in the grass of her backyard, mere yards from the tree line. The other didn't so much as look over his shoulder as he sprinted forward and dove into the bushes.

  "Incoming!" Flynt barked to the guards manning the wall. “Behind us!"

  Chapter 29

  Lavelle Homestead

  Bee’s Landing Subdivision

  Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina

  Cami screamed as a chunk of wood flew off the siding next to her head. Reese grabbed her and wrapped his good arm around her waist, then barreled his way into the house. Gunshots and screaming echoed all around the kitchen.

  "What's going on out there?" Amber demanded as she cleaned the face of a woman standing in the corner, crying.

  "Sounds like World War III!" Jo said as she stitched up the man's arm while he lay on the floor. “I’m about fed up to here with people shooting at me,” she said, holding her hand up to her chin.

  "We're under attack," Cami blurted as she let go of Reese and grabbed the table for support.

  Reese didn't say a word but slammed the back door and barricaded it with a chair. "This plywood's been through a lot—it's not gonna stop much anymore," he said as he inspected the impromptu storm shutters.

  "Who's guarding the front of the house?" Cami asked.

  “Plenty of your people out in the front yard," Jo said. "I saw ‘em run through a few minutes ago."

  "Is it Cisco?" Cami asked.

  "It's gotta be," Reese said. "There's no way the people back at the camp would attack us! All they wanted to do was escape Cisco and Jenkins!"

  "I thought you said you handled Cisco?" Cami yelled after bullets peppered the kitchen and punched holes in the wall above the refrigerator.

  Reese stared at the daylight coming through the holes. "I guess I was wrong! Or maybe it's his guards—I don't know! The point is, we gotta take the fight to them!"

  "Cami!" A voice yelled down the hall.

  Reese turned. "Is that Marty?" He ran down the hall. “Marty!” he yelled in surprise as he saw his neighbor swallowed in blankets and bandages on the floor in the middle of his den. Reese dropped to his knees and put the shotgun on the ground next to them. "Marty, what the—”

  "Reese! Glad to see you, son," Marty said quickly. "No time for small talk—they'll fill you in later. What's going on? I need a situation report."

  "We’re being attacked—it started on the far side of the neighborhood. Lots of gunfire, and at least one house is on fire," Reese said as he looked out the patio toward the back yard. "So far nothing's happening on this side of the neighborhood, but we just started taking gunfire near the house."

  As he watched, several guards peeled off from the group by the wall and jogged toward the corner of the house. Gunfire crackled, and two went down. The rest formed up by the shed and returned fire.

  "I think there's a shooter just on the other side of this wall," Reese said as he pointed to the wall behind Marty.

  "Give me a gun," Marty begged. "Anything—don't leave me laying here defenseless!”

  "Reese! They’re on this side of the house!" Cami warned from the kitchen.

  Reese shoved the shotgun towards Marty. "Here, take this. I gotta get back to the girls."

  He jumped up and ran back to the kitchen, leaving his elderly neighbor to his own devices. He doubted very much that the attackers would break through the line of defenders outside, but if it made the old man comfortable to hold the shotgun, who was he to say no?

  Reese emerged into the kitchen to see a large man with thick shoulders and a tangle of dreadlocks sprouting from his head leaning over the table as his daughter applied a bandage to the side of his neck. "Who's this?" Reese demanded. "What's going on here?"

  "Rufus, dad,” Amber said without looking away from her work. “Dad, Rufus. There, introductions made,” she said as she put pressure on the man's neck. He wobbled a little, then blinked slowly. As Reese watched, blood dribbled between Amber's fingers as she struggled to get a second gauze pad in place.

  Another gunshot rang out from the backyard, and someone screamed just on the other side of the porch door. Reese grabbed the AR-15 on the table in front of Rufus, ejected the magazine, saw that it was half-full, and slammed it home. "You mind if I borrow this?"

  Rufus grunted, then sank into a chair by the table.

  "Reese, don't go out there," Cami begged as she aimed a pistol down the hallway toward the front door.

  "I'm not," Reese replied as he yanked the charging bolt back on the AR. "But somebody's gotta guard this door—whatever's going on outside is right on the other side!”

  The gunfire outside continued unabated, and if anything, increased in tempo. It sounded like someone was shooting as fast as they could pull the trigger. Men screamed and the gunfire continued.

  Reese adjusted his grip on the AR and took aim at the back door. He hadn't survived everything the tsunami had thrown at him and the collapse of civilization in New England, and a hurricane only to come home and be killed by so
me two-bit thug.

  His finger rested on the trigger. Anyone who came through that door and posed a threat to his family was going to be cut down without warning. Reese was out of patience.

  Heavy footfalls thudded on the deck during a brief interlude in the gunfire. “Dad!” Amber yelled.

  A shadow crossed through the holes in the plywood, and something rammed against the door. Amber shrieked as she backed away.

  "Get behind the fridge!" Reese ordered, keeping his eyes locked on the plywood-covered door.

  Cami swung her pistol back to cover him from the other side of the kitchen, and urged Amber to listen to her father's instructions. “Move, Amber!”

  Another tremendous crash and the door swung wide open, revealing the huge bulk of a bearded man carrying two AR-15's. He looked like he’d taken a bath in a bucket of blood, and several holes peppered his torso. His face was streaked with blood and dirt, and his left arm hung at his side, the rifle pointed at the ground. As he stood there, his eyes swept over the kitchen, as if looking for a target.

  "Friendly?" Reese asked Cami. He had no idea who was on his side or not.

  "No!" Cami and Amber said at the same time.

  The big, bloodied, bearded man grunted, and leveled his rifle at Cami.

  "No!" Reese roared. He pulled the trigger as fast as he could, and his injured shoulder absorbed the kick with every blast, but the pain was distant and irrelevant.

  Shell casings flew in front of his face as the man twitched and jerked, then staggered back and crashed into the railing on the far side of the deck. The railing gave way, and the intruder and the railing both disappeared from view.

  As his ears rang, Reese stood and kept his rifle pointed out the door. A second later, the thick-necked man Cami had called Darien appeared in the doorway, and Reese snapped back the trigger. His rifle clicked, empty, and Flynt flinched, throwing his hands up.

  "Don't shoot!" he called out in time with Amber and Cami.

  Even though the rifle was empty, Reese yanked the barrel up and aimed it at the ceiling. "Sorry”! he yelled, his hands trembling with the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

  Flynt sagged against the door frame and eyed Reese. "You're pretty quick on the trigger there, chief," he muttered.

  "I don't even know what's going on here!" Reese exclaimed, exasperated.

  "It was only a couple guys…” Flynt reported as he shook his head. "I think we got ‘em all…it’s over.”

  Reese sagged against the wall and dropped his empty rifle. "I can't take much more of this…”

  "You can't?" Jo cried from the far corner as she crouched near Amber. "I think I have to go change my pants again…”

  "Okay…first, let's secure the area," Cami said, taking charge of the situation again. She holstered her weapon and looked at Flynt. "Make sure everybody’s safe, and all the bad guys are down, then we need to get a headcount and start coordinating bringing the injured in here.”

  “There’s a lot more people hurt out there than I think we can handle in the kitchen,” Flynt said.

  Amber got up and dusted herself off. "Okay…okay, I—we,” she said with a quick smile for Jo, “can set up a triage space out back. There's more shade. Can we get some people to help me?"

  "I'm on it," Flynt said as he stepped out on the deck again.

  "I swear this is like some kind of dream," Reese said as he wiped at his face.

  “It is, now that you’re back,” Cami added as she followed everyone out onto the deck.

  Chapter 30

  Bee’s Landing Subdivision

  Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina

  Cisco staggered his way through the underbrush and emerged into Bee’s Landing. All the times he’d tried to force his way through with trickery and big military vehicles and guns…and he just walked in. He scoffed and choked on blood.

  Fancy homes, many missing shingles and sporting storm-broken windows, stretched out before him in a wide, sweeping curve of middle-class affluence. He limped forward, his right arm nearly useless, the pain in his lower back and legs almost unbearable.

  His face had been ruined, and he could hardly see out of one eye, but the rage that burned inside him carried him forward. Cisco was not the man to be denied what was his, by rights. And now he had finally come to claim the right of vengeance. Flynt had taken Lopez away from him through his mismanagement of their forces in the initial attack on this cursed neighborhood. Cisco had tried and failed already to take out his former leader directly, so instead, he decided he’d destroy that which Flynt held most dear: his woman.

  From the reports of the men he'd already sent to infiltrate the neighborhood, Flynt’s woman lived in the very house he'd taken over during the storm. It was the same one that had hosted the big party, the same house he and Lopez had originally stayed in under Flynt.

  As he staggered across the street, ignoring the pain in his body, he thought back to the first moment he'd spotted the golden-haired beauty as she stepped out onto the back deck of the house at the corner. He grunted. That house had burned to the foundation during the second attack. He’d burn the whole neighborhood down now.

  With him, Cisco brought the bedraggled remains of his army, the one Jenkins had advised him to build. The one Jenkins had secretly built for himself.

  Cisco ground his remaining teeth as he contemplated his tattered plan of attack. At least Jenkins had died a traitor’s death. Thinking back on it, Cisco realized that Jenkins had been trouble from the beginning, he’d just been to wrapped up in his own vengeance plots—and thinking of Lopez—to see it.

  Despite the blood that dried into a sticky paste over most of his face, Cisco saw things more clearly now than ever before. He limped his way across the driveway and approached the house where Flynt’s woman lived.

  What was her name? Cisco staggered forward and it came to him. Oh, yeah. Harriet. Stupid, stuck-up name.

  His left hand gripped a Bowie knife he’d picked off a corpse back in his camp. Cisco staggered up the back steps toward the ruined porch. The last three men who’d followed him—loyal, heavily armed, and itching for a fight—were all that remained of his army. They cast nervous glances as they ascended the steps and approached the back door.

  In the distance, gunfire crackled, and people screamed. Jenkins’ hadn’t been lying about setting up the two-pronged attack after all. That was the first bit of good news Cisco had had since Jenkins died.

  Cisco stood next to a broken patio door and wheezed. Spots flitted through his vision as he caught his breath. Every time he inhaled, stabbing pain rippled down the side of his rib cage. One of the shots from Jenkins’ gun had definitely shattered a rib, but he could still breathe and that’s all that mattered.

  Cisco closed his eyes and wobbled on his feet, unsure if he could take the next step and enter the house without falling on his face.

  "You okay, Boss?" whispered one of the burly men carrying a pair of AR-15's.

  Cisco nodded and felt fresh blood leak from his ruined nose. He tried to talk, but his mouth didn't work right after the fight with Jenkins. His jaw seemed to have swollen to the point that it would no longer work. It didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. He knew he was going to die before the sun set—the only question that remained before him was how many of his enemies he would take with him.

  Cisco stepped through the patio door to find out.

  Voices rose in anger as several people bickered and argued from the kitchen. He walked as carefully as he could, and still managed to make more noise than he would've wanted as he crunched his way across the broken glass and splintered wood spread out across the rear half of the house.

  “…you suggesting we fight them?" a man's voice said, with a note of incredulity.

  "That's precisely what I'm saying!"

  Cisco curled what was left of his lips into a sneer. That was her—he remembered that shrill, high pitched voice.

  "Look, no matter what they've done, no matter what th
ey've kept from us, they’re still our friends…they’re still our neighbors…” another man argued.

  Several voices shouted out at once. “Then who’s attacking the other side of the subdivision? Have you seen the smoke?”

  “What are we going to do about that?”

  “We need to deal with Cami, first!”

  Cisco paused just outside the kitchen. He turned and looked at the three men who stood with him. All were big, tough, bloodied men—they’d survived the breakdown of his camp, killed off Jenkins' followers, and managed to come out relatively unscathed. They were with him to the end, in it more for the bloodlust than a sense of loyalty to him or his cause.

  Modern-day Vikings, Cisco decided. They'd rather loot, pillage, and plunder, and kill anyone who got in their way just for the fun of it. They were exactly the kind of people he wanted with him.

  Cisco nodded, then stepped around the corner. The conversation died immediately as a few of the dozen or so people gathered in the kitchen spotted him and gasped. He hobbled his way across the kitchen, toward the golden-haired beauty—a ray of sunlight on a cloudy day—as she stood next to the kitchen sink with her arms crossed over her ample chest. Her eyes, immaculately painted with makeup, opened wide and her ruby red lips parted as she took in a surprised breath of air.

  Several questions flew at Cisco—Who was he? Where did he come from? Did he need help? What happened?—as he limped his way across the kitchen, leaking blood in a trail across the floor. Several of the men gathered around the table were armed, but none of them reached for a weapon, and none of them—thanks to Cisco's ruined face and bloodied chest—had noticed the wicked knife he carried in his left hand.

  “Oh, my word,” Flynt’s woman gasped. She backed away from him as he approached and bumped into the sink, which pinned her nicely.

  “This is for Lopez,” Cisco growled, but he was shocked to hear his own voice so slurred and unintelligible. Whatever was wrong with his jaw was more serious than he’d thought.

  It didn’t matter.