Smith hustled back to the doors and looked down at a pair of eyes staring back up at him from below. One of the sisters. The others were behind her, waiting inside the concrete corridor. He could see fear and anxiety and about a dozen other emotions flashing across their faces as he reappeared.
“Stay down there until it’s safe,” Smith said.
“What’s happening up there?” one of the sisters asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. What’s your name?”
“Anne.”
“Okay, Anne. I want you and the others to stay down there for now.”
“Is it safe?”
“I don’t know. That’s why you should stay put until I tell you it’s safe to come up.”
“No, I mean, is it safe to stay down here?”
That was a good question, and one Smith hadn’t considered. What was down there with them, behind those two doors that he hadn’t had the time to investigate? Not that he could have opened them, since both were padlocked.
“Yes,” Smith said. “The other doors are locked. Stay away from them.”
He thought he sounded pretty convincing.
“What about them?” Anne asked. She shot a quick look over her shoulder, and at first Smith thought she was talking about the other women.
But no, she was talking about Gruff and Not-So-Gruff.
“They won’t be any trouble,” he said, once again doing his best to sound convincing.
He was only partially bullshitting the women. Gruff was definitely a non-threat, but there was a chance Not-So-Gruff could still become one. But even then, he wouldn’t be the danger he was before Smith took him down with Gruff’s baton.
Anne nodded back at him, and Smith thought, I guess I’m a pretty good liar, after all.
“I’m going to close the door,” Smith told her.
“What?” Anne said, suddenly alarmed.
“I won’t lock it, just close it back up. The lights from down there are too bright. You understand?”
She nodded again, but this time it was much more reluctant.
“Stay sharp,” he said, before swinging the door closed.
The room around him immediately got dark again, and Smith breathed a sigh of relief. How long had he been standing there with a big hole behind him shooting out bright lights? Thank God no one had spotted him while he was trying to decide whether to ditch the women.
Smith made his way back to Mary. She’d found the door—the only way in and out, as far as he could tell.
She looked over. “Everything okay?”
Not even close, Smith thought but said, “Good enough.” Then, positioning himself on the other side of the door from Mary, “I want you to hang back. Let me go out first. See what’s out there.”
Mary nodded. “Be careful.”
“I’ll be back.”
He took hold of the doorknob—it was cold to the touch—and turned it. It moved easily, but he fully expected it not to budge when he pulled it, because like the doors in the basement, there would be a padlock on the other side.
Except it opened easily, and even colder air from the rest of the barn flooded into the back room. Smith wasn’t sure if he was relieved by the lack of resistance or paranoid. But before he could think too much about it, he eased the door wide enough to be able to see out at—
A dark barn interior, with stables lining both sides. He could more easily hear the scratch-scratch of horses moving around in their housings around him. The pop-pop-pop of gunfire outside also seemed closer, but he knew they weren’t; the louder noises were only because he didn’t have an extra door between him and them.
Smith gave Mary a quick glance—she nodded back, even though he hadn’t said anything—before he stepped through the opening, ready for anything, but hoping for nothing.
Eighteen
Scratch-scratch!
Pop-pop-pop!
Thwump-thwump!
Scratch-scratch!
Pop-pop-pop!
Thwump-thwump!
Smith wasn’t sure what was louder—the sound of horses scratching the floor with their hooves inside their stalls, the gunshots from outside, or the rapid movements of his heartbeat inside his chest.
Jesus Christ. Get ahold of yourself. It’s not like this is your first rodeo.
No, but it was his first rodeo where he was only armed with a baton in one hand and a TASER with limited range—not to mention limited effectiveness—in the other. Then again, compared to what a gun could do, everything had limited effectiveness.
Pop-pop-pop!
Thwump-thwump!
Scratch-scratch!
Pop-pop-pop!
Thwump-thwump!
Smith threaded his way along the shadowy parts of the barn, moving from stall to stall. As he neared each one, the horses inside grew agitated and started scratching harder and louder, sensing—then later, smelling—his presence outside their doors.
Scratch-scratch!
Scratch-scratch!
Scratch-scratch!
As far as he could tell, he was halfway to the front double doors. Smith was hoping to find a side door—most barns had them—or a rear one, but was out of luck. Either they were all on the wrong side, or he couldn’t make them out among all the darkness that filled the barn’s interior like a deep, black ocean. There were windows along the ceilings, but they were closed, with only small slivers of moonlight allowed to pierce through the sea of darkness. Not nearly enough for him to see the full layout of the place with.
His night eyes had adapted enough that Smith didn’t stumble into anything in his path. He stepped over plenty of dirt, dry mud, and scattered hay that carpeted the floors. None of it was enough to stop him or made enough noise that he was worried about someone outside the barn hearing his movements. Besides, he’d have to make a hell of a lot of noise for them to hear him anyway through all the chaos out there.
Pop-pop-pop!
Thwump-thwump!
Scratch-scratch!
Pop-pop-pop!
Thwump-thwump!
Christ, his heartbeat was too loud. Or maybe they weren’t that loud but just sounded loud to his own ears. They were likely not noticeable to anyone else.
At least, he hoped not.
Smith stopped for a moment to calm himself down.
Slowly, very slowly, his heartbeat faded into the background, until all he could hear was…
Pop-pop-pop!
Scratch-scratch!
Pop-pop-pop!
Scratch-scratch!
There. That was better.
Smith focused on the double doors in front of him again. It was easy enough to make them out from all the shadows thanks to their outline, which was highlighted by moonlight shining through from the other side. Like a large, rectangular box with a slit in the middle—
The doors burst open—
Mother…
—and two figures stumbled inside.
…fucker!
Smith’s mind flashed.
Option one: Turn and flee back to the back room where Mary was waiting for him and regroup. Except that was risky because he would have to be moving fast and could easily be spotted. But even if he wasn’t immediately spotted, he’d make plenty of noise to draw attention.
Option two: Stay right where he was, hidden in shadows next to one of the horse stalls. The animal behind him was scratching louder now—
Scratch-scratch!
Scratch-scratch!
—like it was trying to get him to move on. Either that or it wanted someone to pay attention to his presence. Besides, how long could he stay still, standing like a statue in the darkness, before the two newcomers noticed his presence?
And then there was option three. He hated option three, but it was the right call.
It was the only call.
So Smith took it and began moving forward toward the two figures as they spun around and pushed the double doors closed. Smith had no idea why they’d stormed inside by op
ening both doors, since that seemed highly illogical. Maybe they just couldn’t figure out which door was easier so elected to go for both. Or maybe they just hadn’t coordinated their efforts and ended up working on both, separately, at the same time.
Whatever the case, the left door slammed shut first—bam!—followed by the right one—bam!—just as something struck the wooden structure on the other side.
“Jesus!” one of them—a male—shouted as he ducked. Smith thought he could almost see splinters flicking over the man’s head as a bullet punched through the door and landed somewhere on the other side of the barn.
“You hit? You hit?” the other one, who had also ducked his head, asked.
“Nah, nah, I’m good. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“I think I’m sure.”
“You better make sure.”
“Yeah, yeah…” The man staggered away from the door, away from the stream of bright light piercing through from the single hole created by the stray—or maybe not so stray—bullet that had nearly taken his head off. He was patting himself down, looking for wounds. “I’m good. I’m good.”
“Goddamn, that was close,” the other one said as he, too, backpedaled.
Both men from the sounds of their voices—and their body shapes, as they slowly became visible to Smith. Both armed, wearing gun belts and holstered pistols. One of them had a rifle slung over his shoulder, while the other one was bending to pick up something off the floor. Another rifle. Apparently, he’d dropped it and was brushing it off now as they continued to back away from the doors, eyes in front of them instead of behind them…
…where Smith was, still advancing toward them.
Slowly, stealthily, as his heartbeat began beating loudly again.
Thwump-thwump!
Thwump-thwump!
Thwump-thwump!
He wanted to stop and gather himself again, force his heartbeat to lessen, but there was no time. Right now he had the element of surprise. The two newcomers had no idea he was behind them. They were too busy focusing on the doors, on what was happening outside.
The pop-pop-pop of a gun battle continued as it had for the last—five minutes? Ten? Smith had lost track of time. Maybe it’d even been twenty minutes? Or longer? How long had it been going on while he was in the basement? He hadn’t heard it until he’d exited the room downstairs, so the chaos could have been raging for an hour, for all he knew. Or—
One of the men began turning around.
Aw, hell.
Smith picked up his pace, raising the TASER in his right hand.
Ten feet…
He thought he saw the whites of the man’s eyes as they widened. Either the man had spotted Smith, or he’d seen something moving in the shadows. Whatever the case, he’d seen something, because he was already lifting his rifle.
Five…
Smith fired and the TASER let out a soft and barely audible pfft!, like a puff of air, followed by the staccato tick-tick-tick of electricity flowing through the twin prongs as they arced across the air and—
Eureka!
The figure seized up, hands trembling as his joints locked up, and he was collapsing to his knees—the rifle fell from his hands at the same time and clattered to the floor—before Smith made up the rest of the distance.
The second man turned, reacting to the clatter of the first’s rifle, but Smith was already driving himself forward and into the man’s chest with his shoulder. The body flung back and crashed into one of the doors, and Smith was pretty sure the entire barn shook against the impact. Not that he spent any amount of time confirming that, because he was already pulling back, raising the baton in his left hand, and swinging it.
He saw a pale white face and bright blue eyes exploding out of their sockets in front of him just before Smith struck—
The rifle!
Shit! The guy had managed to lift his rifle to protect himself and Smith’s metal baton pinged! loudly off the barrel of the weapon!
The shockwave of two metal objects colliding left Smith’s left hand shaking, but fortunately the same was true for his prey. But the man recovered first, and Smith felt a knee sinking into his gut, just before the buttstock of an AR-15 rifle hit him across the face. Either his nose broke or he lost a tooth—not that it really mattered, because it hurt just the same—and Smith flew backwards.
Stay on your feet! Stay on your feet or you’re dead!
Somehow, he managed exactly that, even if it was incredibly difficult. But he fought through it—Stay on your feet, goddammit! Stay on your feet, or you’re a fucking dead man!—and remained upright as his prey, now his attacker, stepped away from the door and raised his rifle to aim.
Smith flung the baton at the man just as he pulled the trigger—
Pop! as the rifle fired and Smith felt the heat trail of the bullet as it zipped! past his head, coming a few inches—maybe closer—from taking off a chunk of his right ear.
But it’d missed.
That was the important part.
It’d missed!
He thought he might have heard the pek! as the round hit something wooden behind him, way back on the other side of the barn, but Smith was too busy lunging forward again just as the man pulled the trigger a second time—
Pop! as the rifle bucked in the man’s hands and the round went wide, this time pekking into one of the stable doors nearby.
Before the man could fire a third time, Smith was inside his defenses and grabbing the rifle by the barrel with one hand, while his other struck the man in the chin. The head snapped back, and before it could come forward again, Smith hit it again—this time in the turned cheek.
Then again, in almost the same spot.
And again.
The man’s body slumped against the door as Smith wrestled the rifle out of his grip. Not that Smith let up. He had to be sure, even though he could see blood dripping down the right temple along the man’s head. Apparently, Smith’s baton had done more than just distract the shooter; it’d landed and broken skin.
Smith drove one knee into the man’s gut, even as the body slackened. Then, as his attacker, now prey again, was halfway to the floor, Smith smashed the buttstock of the man’s rifle into his face, because why the fuck not?
The man crumpled in a pile on the floor, his back against one of the doors.
Groaning from behind him.
Smith turned just as the man he’d shot with the TASER picked himself back up. The guy was already on his knees and was staring at Smith as he reached for his holstered pistol. But he was having difficulty getting a grip on the weapon, and after a while, gave up trying to perform the act with one hand and began using both.
Smith walked the short distance over and struck the man in the face with the buttstock of his newly-acquired rifle. The man’s nose shattered, and blood sprayed the cold air, not that Smith gave a damn. When the man collapsed to the floor, his drawn gun falling next to him, Smith stepped over him, legs on both sides of the man’s prone form, and looked down.
The man stared back up at Smith, his face a bloody mask. Smith couldn’t tell where the blood began or ended. “Don’t, please,” the man said, holding up both hands. If he even remembered about his fallen pistol—it lay dangerously close to him, easily within reach—he hadn’t reached for it.
“What’s happening outside?” Smith asked as he pointed the rifle down at the man and slipped his forefinger into the trigger. He was slightly out of breath and his stomach was hurting, but it was better than being dead.
“What?” the man said. Smith hadn’t just gotten him in the nose with the buttstock of the rifle, but part of his mouth, too. His lips were split, and he might have lost a tooth or two because his words were slightly slurred.
Smith didn’t feel very much sympathy for the man. He was pretty sure his own mouth was cut. Fortunately, he seemed to still have retained all of his teeth.
“Outside,” Smith said. “Who’s attacking the ranch?”
“You don’t know, huh?”
The man shook his head. “Please. Don’t kill me. I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you,” Smith said.
Pop!
Then he walked back to the first man, still sitting against the door. Unlike his partner, this one didn’t get up or beg for his life. As far as Smith could tell, he wasn’t even moving.
Pop!
Luckily, two more gunshots inside the barn, in the midst of the ongoing chaos outside, didn’t draw any attention.
Smith took off one of the men’s gun belts and slid a Glock into the holster while a 1911 Colt went behind his back. He left the other rifle on the floor and hurried to the back of the barn to get the women.
It was time to make his exit.
Nineteen
He couldn’t see a damn thing from the first floor of the barn without opening at least one of the double doors, and he didn’t want to do that. It would expose him to not only gunfire (he still remembered that “stray” round that had nearly taken off the heads of one of the men he’d killed) but anyone who might be looking in his direction when he did.
Fortunately, Smith had other options.
While Mary and the other women waited on the first floor, he climbed up a ladder to the second and scooted his way along the darkness over to one of the windows. It was smaller than a door and less likely to be noticed when he eased it open and peered out.
It was a full-blown gun battle, all right, and it was still going on.
There were two factions that he could see: One was inside the main two-story house, the staccato flashes of their muzzles flickering in the darkness as rifles fired from windows on both floors. They were exchanging fire with people camped out among the hills, but the other side wasn’t constrained to that location. Some of the attackers had made it onto the ranch’s property, and he could see more muzzle flashes from within the fence, some firing on the house from a couple of the outlying supply shacks.
After The Purge, AKA John Smith (Book 3): Shoot Last Page 12
