“Go!” Grossman shouted. He was relieved when Wes simply did as he was told.
With his soldier on his way to safety, Grossman decided it was time to make his last gambit. He stood up quickly, exchanged his rifle for his pistol, and started walking. The two flankers were distracted by the sudden motion, as well as the throaty rumble of a big diesel truck coming up the street. He didn’t bother looking to see what was going on behind him, though. He had to focus on his objective.
As Prange’s man with the M-16 pivoted to fire again, he suddenly found Grossman just a few feet away. Two shots from the pistol, and the man went down. Prange must have realized what was up, because Grossman heard him start running. He stepped as quickly as he could to the corner of the house.
The big diesel that Grossman had heard was lumbering to a stop. Prange was running toward it, but then pulled up short.
A gun fired from inside the cab of the truck. At first, Grossman thought he was the target, until he noticed Prange was suddenly turning to run away from the vehicle.
Grossman raised his pistol and fired, the bullet catching Prange square in the chest. He fired twice more as the man went down.
As much as he wanted to take a breath and just rest for a moment, to regroup after the victory, the sound of gunfire was still echoing across the town. There were still the two men that had been flanking the car behind him, Carter was still out there somewhere, plus an unknown number of his thugs still fighting.
Grossman made his way to the truck, holding his left arm out to make the red cloth tied around it clear. Two more of his allies appeared, heading for the truck. As he got closer, he could see that the front left was crumpled in, as if it had collided with something.
“Get in, sir!” the driver called out. It was another one of his soldiers.
“No,” he shook his head. “Our guys will light this up if we drive it to the staging area.”
“Got it,” the man said, swinging down from the cab.
Immediately around him, Grossman couldn’t hear any more fighting. There was still some going on, especially a lot from the area of downtown, but the block he was on seemed quiet. “Let’s move.”
Slowly, more of his people collected around him. While they walked toward the staging area, his soldiers kept watch for any threats, freeing him up to shift mental gears from his immediate survival to the larger situation. He took the time to catch his breath and prepare for the task of seeing how his people had functioned without his leadership when things kicked off early. He wondered how much of the plan they had managed to carry out, and how much he’d have to adjust on the fly.
As they rounded the last corner onto the main street, the sounds of battle suddenly got very close. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked ahead. The town hall was just a block up, and there was a fierce exchange of gunfire around it. Carter was by the front of the other truck, firing an M-16. Two of his soldiers were getting into the bed of the truck, along with his brother’s friend, Rocky. A few other soldiers were on the ground, not moving.
Once the three people got into the truck bed, Carter got into the cab. The gunfire suddenly became one-sided as rounds went slamming into the truck. The men in the back returned fire, to no effect Grossman could see.
To the northwest of town, there was still one more firefight going on, and it sounded like only a single automatic rifle against a larger number of other weapons.
“We should get you somewhere protected, sir.”
“No,” Grossman said. “I’ll be right here where the plan puts me, to direct the mopping up.”
25
Daniel Prange woke up feeling like an elephant was sitting on the left side of his chest. Every breath he took hurt. He carefully reached to the sorest spot on his chest. The motion was near excruciating, but at least his fingers came back dry. He wasn’t sure exactly what Grossman had hit him with, but at least the bulletproof vest had kept it from penetrating.
As he was trying to figure out how to roll over and get up, he realized that the town was eerily quiet. There were no more gunshots either near or far, and the loud, guttural growl of his trucks was absent. Gritting his teeth, Prange pushed up with his right arm, wincing as he rolled across the spot on his left side where the bullet had hit.
Just out of the corner of his eye, he could see three men in hunting camouflage walking toward him. They had red pieces of cloth tied around their right arms and left ankles, and were armed with long rifles. All three had their attention focused solely on him, looking at him through scopes. They didn’t seem worried about anything else around them.
At that moment, he didn’t need to know anything else about what had happened while he was out. He and his men had been defeated.
“Let’s see both hands!” one of the men said.
Prange lifted his arms, splaying his fingers wide to show that they were empty. He wondered how many of his other men were still alive, how many were dead, and how many had managed to get the hell out of Bowman.
26
The Bowman firehouse was a scene of mildly controlled chaos when Peter came in, supported by Larry and Chuck.
One of his classmates was wearing an old scrub shirt and holding a clipboard. “Ambulatory and conscious, to the right,” she said, quickly jotting down a note. “Anybody down at your location?”
“Just four of the fakes,” Bill said. “Cold meat.”
“You need stretcher bearers?” Irene asked.
“Please!” Peter’s classmate said. “Assignments are being handed out over there.”
Irene walked with Peter to the end of his triage line. “You sit in with Peter,” she said to Bill, then rounded up Chuck and Larry to go join the stretcher crew.
A couple minutes later, one of Bowman’s old Navy veterans came up to Peter. “What have we got?”
“Two gunshot wounds,” Bill said. “No arteries hit, no bone damage we could detect.”
The veteran gave Peter a quick assessment and tied a paper tag to one of the buttonholes on his shirt. “The good news is that you’re not bleeding through your dressings, don’t look to have any internal injuries, and you can speak in coherent sentences. The bad news is, that puts you pretty low on the priority list right now. We’ll get you some water, but don’t want to get any food in you quite yet.”
Peter nodded. “Thanks. That would be great.” He sat down in a camp chair and leaned his head back to catch a bit of rest.
It seemed like he’d barely shut his eyes when somebody gently shook his shoulder.
He heard Tom Grossman’s voice. “Hey. It’s great to see you.”
Peter opened his eyes. They slowly came into focus on the mayor’s face.
“Bill here says you’re the only one that took a hit?” the mayor asked.
“Yeah,” Peter said. “Five of us came down. We got into it on the southeast side of town.”
“Anybody sent word up to your parents yet?” Grossman asked.
Peter noticed that Grossman had a few high school students trailing him, each holding a small notepad.
Bill shook his head. “The others are out bringing the rest of the wounded in.”
Grossman handed Peter a notepad. “Got a message you want to send up to your place?” He turned to one of his messengers. “Since his place is a good distance out of town, get me two adults to make the run.”
“Thanks,” Peter said. “How are things looking overall?”
Grossman sighed. “We lost some, but they lost more. We captured a few of theirs alive, but Carter escaped with maybe three of his guys and my brother’s friend, Rocky. He was one of the three that hit your property the first day. We don’t know where Jerry is.”
“Think we’ll see any of them again?” Bill asked.
“Unfortunately, I think it’s very likely,” Grossman said. “A few people heard Carter say he was going to come back and burn us to the ground. Don’t know if it’s just bravado or if he’s going to hold that kind of a grudge.”
“
Let’s pray it’s bravado,” Bill said.
“I don’t think it is. He left without his buddy Prange. I wounded him, enough to knock him down but not out, apparently. So we’ve got him locked up until we can figure out what to do with him,” Grossman said. “Anyway. I’ve got to keep moving down the line here, seeing how everybody is. I’ll talk to you two later.”
Peter grabbed his arm. “I know Carter and Prange are both heavy on your mind. But if you find your brother or that Rocky dude, let me know.”
Grossman gave him a confused look. Of course, Peter still hadn’t told him about his father. Soon, he’d disclose what had gone down when the Event had first happened, but Peter didn’t want to get into all of that right now.
Instead, he grit his teeth and said through the pain, “I’ve got some unsettled business to take care of with them.”
For Peter, it couldn’t come soon enough.
# # #
TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 3… PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY.
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** NOTE: The Dark New World series contains strong language and graphic depictions of violence **
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About the Authors
J.J. Holden is the co-author of the AGE OF SURVIVAL, DARK NEW WORLD, and EMP CRISIS series. He lives in a secluded cabin and spends his days studying the past, enjoying the present, and pondering the future.
Mark J. Russell is the co-author of the AGE OF SURVIVAL and EMP CRISIS series. An avid outdoorsman, he enjoys reading and writing stories of survival.
For updates, new release notifications, and more, please visit: www.jjholdenbooks.com
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Age of Survival Series | Book 2 | Age of Panic Page 21
