With Just Cause

by Jackie Ivie

  It didn’t take long before they were all assembled in a basement chamber that looked like a storage room.

  “This is so exciting!” Someone whispered it, and then laughed.

  “Best retreat ever.” Someone else answered.

  Edna wasn’t whispering when she answered. Her words were even more spine-tingling.

  “Stop that. This isn’t a drill. This is fact. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but we’ve been overrun by madmen. You heard them. They’ve already executed one – that coyote fella – and you know damn well what they’re doing to that nice man, Len.”

  “They’re skinning him alive!”

  “Exactly. That’s their plan. And we’re stopping them. Listen up. We are not shooting anyone unless it’s to kill. Understand? No wounding. These are bad guys and we’re protecting ourselves and our property. Exactly as we’ve trained. If you feel incapable, don’t take up a weapon. Find a hiding spot and pray we’re the better shots. Rosa? Show us this armory.”

  In answer, there was a click and the entire back wall swiveled, showing a series of tunnels that branched out into blackness. The entire complex could be the dimensions of the ranch house above it. They were directed through a door on the right. Deandra’s wasn’t the only jaw that dropped. She was in awe. Every bit of wall space was devoted to premium hardware. All types of guns. They had shotguns - all types and every barrel size. She scanned twenty-six inch barrels, some longer, reaching thirty, and some were sawn off. Long-range rifles were displayed next, most bolt action chambered to .308 and .30-06’s. There was a section of big game guns such as .338 Winchesters. Small rifles were stacked in rows, barrel-down. A glance showed most were chambered .223 bolt action. There were rows of combination guns such as the European three-barrel “dreilings”, consisting of two 12-guage shotguns mounted about a long-range rifle barrel. Good rifle for any condition. Deandra selected one of those and then moved onto the wall filled with handguns, both centerfire and rimfire, and beneath the pistol wall were shelves holding all kinds of equipment. Knives. Holsters. Scopes. GPS units. Night vision goggles.

  While the others picked their favorites, Deandra strapped on a holster and picked up two .22 pistols with six inch barrels. Then she plucked up a combat knife, still in its scabbard. A few seconds later, it was strapped to the outside of her right thigh. A GPS unit went into her pocket where it clacked alongside the makeup compact. Night vision goggles were next and she draped them around her neck. And she was ready. After all, they were only facing fifteen Hunters and one old man.

  No. Make that thirteen Hunters now. Her two frying-pan victims weren’t breathing last she saw.

  She got another jaw drop as Rosa gestured them across the hall to her ammunition cache. Unbelievable. The place was a warehouse of munitions. She slung a brace of cartridges over her head, looking a bit like the recently deceased coyote guy from last night. This place was stocked to survive WWIII, an army of zombies, or a group of camouflage-dressed lunatics doing whatever it took to catch and kill a fantasy being. Vampires? Oh, please. It sounded more fantastical every time she thought it. And her Grimm wasn’t a vampire. It was impossible. Fantastical.

  Please let it be fantastical.

  Deandra tamped down the misgiving, sending it to churn in her belly alongside the adrenaline rush and shock from killing two men. She’d deal with all that later, in the aftermath. Right now they had a situation to deal with. They had to save Len. They had bad guys to deal with. Insane bad guys. Dangerous. And armed. As surreal as it sounded, the situation was real and it was still happening. And bound to get worse. She’d already responded. She’d taken out two of them. Deandra’s hands shook for the barest moment before she forced them to still.

  She could panic later. Right now, she had to go take out more.

  They hadn’t been quick enough. Len’s cries added impetus to their feet, wings to hers. Nobody could keep up. Deandra had to wait at the same hall she’d just left for inside attack group to catch up. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say. Edna had divided them. Six of the 2100 Radical Society were outside. They had thirty-four seconds more to reach their assigned positions before Edna gave the sign for attack.

  “I tell you I don’t know anything! I don’t know anyone! Ow! You bastard!”

  “I already sent both Stevens and Ron to the Bradley Ranch, Mister Griggins. You might as well give me the rest of my information.”

  Deandra went ice cold. The rifle trembled in her hands. They knew about the Bradley Ranch? Grimm could handle two of these guys. If he knew they were coming and what they wanted. She didn’t know which one had been Stevens, and how merciless he was. But she’d seen Ron execute the coyote guy in cold blood. She knew exactly what he was capable of.

  “Hans? Put some salve on that. I don’t want him bleeding out too soon.”

  The old guy wasn’t doing well under the strain or something. His voice shook. She hoped he dropped with a stroke. Edna wasn’t waiting. Against every bit of training, she went early, jumping into the room with a shotgun blast toward Len’s captors.

  Damn it! They had to get Len out of the line of fire first.

  Deandra dropped, rolled, and from the crouch where she ended, shot one leg off Len’s chair with her combination rifle. She didn’t have time to watch him teeter and fall over. Her next shot nearly took off the old guy’s arm. He might have been shaky when he talked, but his screams were loud and shrill and full of pain. And then someone put him out of his misery with a well-aimed coup-de-grace bullet.

  The Hunters might have been surprised and they might be shocked, but they weren’t amateurs. Some dove for cover the moment Edna started it, and picked off at least two of the 2100 Radical Society before they cleared the door and had a chance to enter. They were deadly shots, too. There wasn’t any sound coming from either body. Sounded like the group outside was taking their own heat as gunfire and shouts started infiltrating the area.

  Three of them were using the fire pit for cover. Every once in a while a hand would come over and pepper their area with bullets. It got returned, some of it ringing off the funnel-thing. The builders should have fashioned a real fireplace. One with a brick hearth. And not one that was suspended above the ground. From her vantage point, Deandra got three of the Hunters in rapid fire succession, right in the thighs and lower legs, and anything else she could pick off. Not waiting to see if they survived, she launched across the floor, grabbed Len’s chair and scooted to a far wall, dragging him along. She slammed the table they used for board games to its side for protection.

  Someone noticed, and sent a flurry of bullets into the wood grain, none of them piercing it. That was odd. Deandra slipped her knife out, freed Len, and waited as he ripped the hem off his shirt and started binding his arm. He had three long gashes in one forearm.

  “That doesn’t look serious enough to give up Grimm,” she whispered.

  “Didn’t say a word, Sweetheart. And you’re not on this end. Hurts like the devil.”

  “Two of them are on their way to the Bradley Ranch.”

  “No lie. Give me your rifle.”

  She did, and yanked the supply of bullets over her head at the same time. “How do they know then?”

  “There’s only one big ranch out here. Eighteen miles due north. Eleven as the crow flies. Didn’t take them long to figure out the best spot to start looking.”

  “Damn it.”

  Len went to his knees, lifted above the table and fired off a couple of rounds. Dropped as bullets replied.

  “Well? What are you waiting for? An invite? He’ll be vulnerable until the sun sets. We’ve got this, Hon.”

  “Eleven miles? North?”

  “Take the dirt bike. They’re using the road. Now, go! I’ll cover you.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Bradley Ranch was everything she’d suspected it would be. Snobbish. Immaculate. Heavily financed. The wrought iron gatepost settled on both sides in red-bricked posts was ornamented with what looked
like intricate coats of arms. They had heraldic symbols on their gate? In the middle of a Texas spread? Pure snobbery.

  It was also well-groomed. Perfectly spaced white picket fencing trimmed both sides of the asphalt drive she raced up. Behind that were manicured spans of lawns and backing them were enormous structures that resembled barns. Painted red, with pitched roofs, they looked like barns or stables, but were much too immense. Or something. They were all the same design and color scheme, too. Although, they used gold as a trim color and not white.

  Hell. It was probably real gold leaf, or something equally expensive and easily as stupid. Snobbish. Well-groomed, and heavily financed. The one thing it didn’t look was alert to any danger. That might mean she’d beaten the two men sent to track Grimm down and probably kill him.

  As if vampires really existed.

  And he was one.

  Deandra cut the engine and jumped off the bike before it finished rolling, not even caring that it probably destroyed some of the shrubbery. She’d worry about that later. Once she’d warned Grimm. Everything focused on that one thing. She ran the span of wide steps leading to a cupola entrance way, and yanked on the door bell chain. The sound of deep bonging reverberated through the two-story double doors she faced, and then the door opened and a real French-dressed maid stepped out.

  Deandra’s face probably reflected her reaction. She couldn’t believe it. The woman had her hair in a bun with a white caplet atop that. She wore a black dress, with a wide skirt held out by a lot of white petticoats, and she had a lace-trimmed white apron atop everything. And a feather duster in one hand.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see the senior Bradley person. Whoever that might be. Are they in?”

  “Are you expected?”

  Deandra smiled and then dropped the expression. “No.”

  “Is this a social call?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Arriving dust-covered and grimy, with her hair loose, dark glasses still in place, and carrying a set of pistols wasn’t clue enough?

  “I’m sorry. The Bradleys are not accepting callers.”

  The woman stepped back through the doorframe and moved to shut the door. Deandra stuck her leg into the gap, where the wood smacked against her combat knife, pressing it into her thigh.

  “If you don’t go and fetch a senior Mister or Missus Bradley, I might shoot you. And then I’ll go and do it myself. Does that answer your questions?”

  The woman’s eyes went as wide as her mouth. She let go of the door. Backed until she was in the middle of the room, and then dropped a hand to lift her skirt a fraction if it was in the way. Stupid move. Maybe it was instinctive. Maybe it was required of their staff by the Bradley family. It still looked stupid. That skirt was knee-length. It certainly wasn’t in her way as she walked briskly over to a thickly carpeted staircase that spiraled up into the lofty span of space above. She started climbing. Deanna kept pace, three steps behind. She wasn’t allowing this woman to disappear and maybe get help to evict her. The woman didn’t act like she heard or felt Deandra. And never once did she look back to check.

  Good thing she’d decided to accompany the maid. She might have gotten lost. The place was a cavern of antique furnishings, thick carpeting, tiled spans covered with Persian carpets, lofty ceilings holding chandeliers, and everywhere was carved wooden furniture. Deandra wondered if Grimm had a hand in a few of them, recognizing a pattern from his bedposts, and quickly set the thought aside.

  So... this is how the truly rich lived. What a waste. Of space. Energy. Resources. She could go on. It wouldn’t matter. They probably didn’t care how much damage they did to the environment. They had their own personal oil well. And refinery.

  The maid stopped finally and tapped on a door. Not just any door, but one of a set of double doors fashioned from carved redwood with gilt trim. They spanned two stories in height. Maybe more. Deandra wasn’t checking ceiling height. She was too hyped up. Adrenaline was like a drug, pulsing through her. She’d killed today and watched two of the 2100 Radical Society die. This was child’s play.

  The maid was bade entrance and went in, Deandra at her heels.

  The Bradley family was having an evening soiree. For all she knew they were gathered to sip cordials and gossip prior to being called into dinner. Or something equally nonsensical.

  The enormity of the room the maid entered sucked at sound. Everyone looked like a tiny doll with such soaring ceilings. They also looked overdressed and elegant. Especially in comparison to her. The maid moved toward the small gathering near a fireplace that probably held an entire tree if they used it. Deandra kept pace. It was too late now.

  “Esther, what on earth—?”

  “I need to speak with a senior Bradley,” Deandra answered loudly, making the maid jump and look like she’d faint.

  A glass dropped, shattering on impact. Someone squealed. A masculine voice sputtered, and then a woman stepped forward, her skeletal-slender form enclosed in a black cocktail dress that showed way too much cleavage. And she was way too old for such a display, even if they were surgically enhanced and didn’t sag. And Deandra should be way too intent on saving Grimm to even notice.

  “Are you the senior Bradley?”

  The woman’s face tightened, especially her lips, where deep lines cracked outward regardless of how much lip liner she’d used.

  “Of all the rude—”

  “Save it, lady. People are dying and I’m not playing. Are you the oldest one here or not?”

  “Well!”

  “Look. I don’t mean your age. I mean—I don’t have time for this! There are two men right behind me. They’re seriously insane. Killing people. Or didn’t you hear me? I’ve lost two girlfriends already. Maybe more.”

  There was a collective gasp. Everyone started looking a bit more interested.

  An older, distinguished looking man stepped out next. He wasn’t as old as the woman, but he had gray streaking his temples and looked like he might be the one Deandra needed. He was also dressed in a gray three-piece suit. In the Texas heat. On a weekday without any significance. What was she thinking? He probably dressed that way every night. He and Missus “Pert Boobs” were welcome to each other. Deandra just wanted to find Grimm. She needed to be with him. Feel him. Be held by him. Banish these bogeymen.

  “What do you want from us?” he asked.

  “Tell me where I can find Grimm.”

  “Grimm?”

  His face scrunched up. The woman’s did an exact expression, only on her, it really defined her age. She probably should spring for another facelift in the near future.

  “Grimm?”

  “Grimm Bradley. Your... cousin. Or whatever. Look. I know he’s the black sheep. I know you don’t have anything to do with him. But you’ve got to help me. Those guys are right behind me. They’re going to harm him! And I won’t allow that to happen! So. Why don’t you just tell me where to find him and I’ll let you go back to leading your useless lives. Okay?”

  Drat her tongue! She should’ve bitten it. Any helpful expression got wiped out by her assessment. And then the man looked to the French maid person.

  “Esther, go call security.”

  Deandra pulled her guns, swiveled them into her hands and cocked them. The move was swift, sure, and perfectly executed. As if she did it every day of her life. Everyone took at least a step back, and then from way in the back came a feeble old lady’s voice.

  “I think... I know who you’re speaking of, young woman.”

  “Aunt Grace, really!”

  “Stand aside Woodrow, and let me through.”

  The crowd parted. Deandra re-holstered her pistols. The woman who approached had purplish white hair wrapped all about her head, set with so many diamonds it sparkled. She was small, hadn’t much excess weight on her, and wore a light blue satin dress that made the other Bradley woman look pretty skanky.

  “You know Grimm?”

  “I’
ve... heard of him.”

  Deandra nearly smacked something. Grimm had said he was the black sheep. He hadn’t been kidding. This woman had heard of him? Of all the rude, arrogant, snobbish, haughty, egotistical—. She stopped her own litany of adjectives. It wasn’t getting her anywhere. And she was finally getting close. So close.

  “Good. Just tell me where he is, then. I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’ll do you one better. I’ll accompany you.”

  “Now, Grace. You know what the doctor said.”

  The gray-suited man spoke up. The old lady waved a hand at him.

  “Oh, stow it, Randall. Can’t you see we’ve got a situation to handle?”

  Deandra interrupted them. “For the love of—! I’m in a hurry, folks! Life and death, remember?”

  “In that case, we’ll take the car. Randall? See to it. I’ll just be a moment. And Esther? Escort this woman out. No. Take the back way. Back door. Honestly.”

  Deandra stiffened. The old woman saw it and smiled before speaking.

  “You all heard this young woman. We’re expecting visitors of ill repute at any moment. I really don’t wish to meet up with them near the front of the house. And get the guns out. We’ve been forewarned. Now get armed. And don’t worry, my dear. I’ve got an elevator. I’ll probably beat you there.”

  o0o

  The car was a stretch limousine. Polished so the dark red finish mirrored what was becoming a colorful sunset. The burnished reflection still hurt. Even through the sunglasses she still wore. She squinted, taking in the length of drive, the slice of light blue silk from the older woman’s skirt showing she’d not only beat Deandra to the car but she’d beat her to a seat, and a man wearing a red and gold trimmed black suit, holding the door open for her. Deandra would’ve rolled her eyes, but it might hurt and take too long. And nobody would see or care anyway.

  She ran the steps and slid into the car, taking a seat with her back to the driver and opposite the other occupant. The door shut, sealing them into an interior that reeked of darkened window glass, old money, and supple leather. And air conditioning. Good heavens. They had the air conditioning running, despite how the old woman clutched a heavily fringed shawl about her. Deandra would never understand the wealthy. It was a waste of time to try.