Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1

by D W McAliley

  She dropped the shotgun, took two steps, and fell into Tom's arms sobbing. Just then, four young children stuck their heads down from the second floor banister, and shouted "Daddy's home!"

  "Baby," Tom said with a small chuckle, "I brought some of the guys from work home for dinner."

  Jen's laughter and sobs blended together into one sound as she clung to Tom, and he clung back.

  Ch. 16

  The Stop-n-Shop

  Bill fell forward and hit the sidewalk in front of the convenience store hard. There was a moment of shocked silence, and Imogene let out a bone chilling wail. She ran for Bill, her arms outstretched.

  Christina caught Imogene just before she got to Bill. She held the older woman tight, stroking her hair and whispering softly to her. Eric was the first to reach the ex-ranger, and he saw that Bill's chest was rising and falling in shallow gasps. Mike and Claire reached him at nearly the same moment.

  Mike carefully pulled Bill's shirt away from his shoulder and tore the fabric where the exit hole was so he could get a better look at the wound. Mike took a deep breath and stuck the end of his finger into the exit wound briefly. Bill groaned and jerked a bit, but Mike took his finger out and wiped it on Bill's shirt.

  "No bullet fragments," he said, relieved. "I think it punched straight through. Eric, run grab the medical kit out of the truck; I'm going to need it. Claire, start cutting his shirt off and I'll try and hold him down the best I can."

  Eric sprinted to the pickup and dug around a bit in the bed before he found the red and black med kits. He pulled both and found they were surprisingly heavy for their size. Eric ran as fast as he could manage with the awkward load in his hands. By the time he got back to Bill, Mike and Claire had unhooked his leather suspenders and cut away his red shirt.

  Blood seeped from the small round wound on Bill's shoulder in a slow, steady stream.

  Imogene was still struggling in Christina's arms, trying to break away and reach her husband, so Eric stood and went to her. "Imogene, I know you're scared," Eric said, taking the older woman's face gently in his hands. "But listen. Mike and Claire did a fantastic job helping Tina, right?" Imogene finally made eye contact with Eric and nodded slightly, so he moved his hands down to her shoulders. "They're going to take good care of Bill too. But right now, they need their space and they need to focus. Can you go with Tina over to the truck? We're going to need some water and some plain food like crackers, and she doesn't know where that stuff is. Can you get that?"

  Imogene nodded and finally let Christina lead her slowly back to the pickup. Eric turned back to Bill, and his stomach lurched. Mike had a double handful of gauze padding pressed hard against Bill's back, but it was already soaked through with blood. A dark red stain was spreading on the concrete sidewalk beneath Bill also. Mike and Claire exchanged a look that wasn't good.

  "If we can't get this bleeding stopped...." Mike said, unwilling to finish his own thought.

  Suddenly, Eric snapped his fingers, and he ran through the still open doors into the store. Inside, it was still as dark as he remembered. Along the back wall, two aisles held various fishing, camping, and cooking necessities for campers who had forgotten to pack this or that. Eric did his best not to look at the red splatters on the floor or the small red gas can that lay forgotten against the drink cooler next to Bill's revolver.

  A body was laying half in and half out of the storage closet between the restrooms. Eric carefully nudged one of the bright white sneakers, but the body didn't move, so he left it. He ran to the last aisle where the kitchen supplies were stacked, and he grabbed the four bags of sugar on the bottom shelf. He snatched a bottle of rubbing alcohol, six tubes of antibacterial cream, and three bandannas from a rack on the way out.

  "I've got an idea," Eric said, dropping to his knees next to Bill. Eric popped open one of the bottles of alcohol and took a deep breath. "You guys will need to hold him."

  Mike and Claire put their full weight on Bill's arms and Eric slowly poured alcohol over the wound. Bill groaned some more and tried to move, but couldn't. Eric dried the area with a bandanna and carefully rubbed antibacterial cream all around the wound. He then opened one of the bags of sugar and lifted it over the wound, but Mike grabbed his hand.

  "What the heck are you doing?" Mike asked.

  "I remember it from history," Eric said. "In the Napoleonic wars battlefield surgeons used sugar to treat bullet and saber wounds."

  "How does it work?" Claire asked.

  Eric shrugged slightly. "Something about osmotic pressures...I can't remember the details; I just remember that it worked better than any other treatment at the time. If we don't stop this bleeding, Bill's going to die, right? What can it hurt?"

  Mike looked at Claire, and they both shrugged. Mike let go of Eric's wrist, and he poured a healthy amount of granulated sugar over the bullet wound. Eric pressed the mound firmly into the wound and then poured more dry sugar on top.

  "Okay, let's roll him," Eric said, and he helped Mike and Claire roll Bill onto his side with some difficulty.

  Eric dressed the other side of the wound the same way. Once there was a good pack of sugar in both sides of the wound, they pressed gauze pads to both sides and wrapped the wound tightly with rolled gauze. Mike and Claire sat for a moment and watched the wound, expecting it to bleed through immediately.

  Much to their surprise, the dressing held and Bill's breathing slowed a bit. After a few minutes, Bill's eyes fluttered and he tried to sit up with a groan. Mike and Eric both jumped forward and held him down. Suddenly, Imogene and Christina were there kneeling next to them.

  "What....what am I?" Bill asked, groggily, his eyes half-open.

  "You've been shot," Mike said. "Try not to move or you could hurt yourself more."

  Bill groaned and tried to say something, but his words were garbled and unintelligible. After a few moments, he fell back, his breathing deeper and slower. Mike checked his pulse and heart beat with a stethoscope and nodded.

  "His pulse is stronger," Mike reported, "and his breathing's clear. I think the bullet missed all the main arteries and veins, and Eric's sugar trick stopped the bleeding. He's stable for now."

  "Oh, thank you, Jesus!" Imogene whispered, and she collapsed to her knees next to Bill. She began lightly stroking Bill's hair with one hand and squeezing his right hand with her other, whispering to him the whole time. The rest of the group stood and walked a few steps away to give her some privacy.

  "Could you tell what happened in there?" Claire asked.

  Eric shook his head. "Not really," he replied. "There's a dead guy in a janitor's closet. It looks like he came out and took at least one shot at Bill, maybe two. Bill got him square in the chest with his .357, though, and that put an end to it."

  Mike turned his head and cursed hard. "We never cleared the building," he growled after a profanity-laced moment. "I can't believe I did that. I know better than that. I make one lame-brained mistake and Bill gets--"

  Claire reached up and squeezed Mike's shoulder. "You didn't know anyone was in there. Don't beat yourself up about it now."

  Mike nodded, but his face was still twisted in a grimace.

  "Look, there's something we need to consider," Eric said after a moment. "Bill's going to need time to heal before we try to move him, or we risk opening that wound again. Plus, the dressing's going to have to be changed five or six times a day to keep it from getting infected."

  "He needs a doctor," Claire said.

  "How do you suggest we get him to one?" Mike shot back. "Even if we had a stretcher he could fit on, we couldn't carry him to the truck, much less lift him into it."

  "So what are you saying?" Christina asked.

  Eric took a heavy breath and let it out slowly. "Looks like our little pit stop just turned into an extended stay."

  Ch. 17

  Special Delivery

  Joe scraped the last bite out of his cold can of Franks-n-Beans. He stuck his spoon in the empty can and leaned ba
ck with a wide, satisfied grin. Chris and Henderson both watched him with confusion from opposite ends of the table; neither had taken more than a bite or two of their own dinner.

  Tom and Jen were still too busy with each other to pay much attention to anything else.

  "What was that about?" Chris asked suddenly breaking the silence.

  Tom jumped as if someone had poked him, "What?" he asked, confused.

  Joe jerked his head towards the door. "We'll give you two some privacy," he said, ushering the other two men out onto the porch.

  Each of them had a side arm tucked behind their waistband and under their shirt, as well as at least one sturdy knife on them. They left their rifles leaning against the inside wall, within arm’s reach of the slightly cracked front door.

  Chris and Henderson poked at their beans while Joe stared off at the sun as it sank towards the West.

  "My best friend for as long as I can remember was Frank," Joe said after a while. "His dad was named Frank too, Frank Sr., but I never called him that. It was Mr. Stewart for forever, and then Mr. Frank after that. I used to work with them in the summers on their farm. We ate Franks-n-Beans for lunch just about every day, and Mr. Frank would always make a joke about it...Two Franks eatin their beans..."

  Joe smiled and shook his head. He was quiet for a moment, and when he looked back up at the red sun, his face was more serious.

  "I haven't spoken to Frank in years," he said softly. "Last I heard he was doing well in Texas... owned a few physical therapy clinics and a house on some huge lake. I always planned to fly down and see him but never could make the time."

  Silence settled over the porch while Chris and Henderson picked at their cans for a while before setting them down. The sun was sinking slowly, but visibly, and a cool breeze was starting to pick up. Joe looked around but couldn't see anyone else out on their porch. A few dogs barked in the distance, but there weren't any other sounds save for the wind and the birds.

  It was enough to make his skin itch.

  "It's going to be dark soon," Chris said after a while. "We still have a little way to go to get to Allyson and the baby. We need to think about moving."

  Joe nodded. "I know, Chris," he said. "We haven't forgotten about you. I just wanted to give them some time. Then maybe it'll go easier when it's time to roll out."

  Chris nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but Henderson suddenly held up his hand and hissed an intense, "Shhhh!" at them both. He moved to the far end of the porch and cupped his hands around one ear.

  "That's an up-armored Humvee," Chris whispered suddenly. "It's faint, but it's getting close."

  "I don't hear anything," Joe said, waving his hand at Henderson. "Just the wind."

  Chris was frowning, though, a look of intense concentration on his face. After a few moments, he began nodding his head. "Yeah, I think I'm hearing it too," he said, pointing down the main avenue to the south east. "From back that way, right?"

  Henderson nodded. Both men turned and grabbed their empty cans and spoons. Joe did a quick police of the porch to make sure there was no sign anyone had been outside, then the three men quickly stepped into the foyer and carefully closed the door.

  "Tom, we have tangos in bound," Joe whispered. "We gotta lock this place down."

  Tom immediately stood and blew out the two glass hurricane lamps in the center of the dining room table. He pulled Jen to her feet and led her into the kitchen.

  "Jen, we have to get all of the lights out," Tom said as he blew out the other candles. "They can't see anything in here, okay? Then we gotta go up and keep the children absolutely quiet and still."

  "What is it?" Jen asked, confused. "What's going on?"

  "Someone is coming," Tom said, "and we don't know who it is; that's what has us on edge. They have Humvee's, though, and they work. I can't explain more right now, there's no time. You have to trust me on this. Go upstairs and get the kids into the back office closet and shut the door. I'll be up in a little bit."

  Jen nodded and bolted up the stairs. Tom could hear her moving about on the second floor. He grabbed his rifle from where it sat next to the stairs. Joe nodded to him when he looked, and Tom sprinted up the stairs after his wife. Joe heard him take a position halfway down the upstairs hallway.

  Joe, Chris, and Henderson quickly pulled all of the curtains closed on the windows along the back and sides of the house, and then pulled the ones along the front almost closed. They each took their rifles and a position with a clear view of the street.

  Joe could hear the faint rumble of the Humvee's now through the walls, and he looked at Henderson with an appreciative nod. "How in the blue hell did you hear those?" Joe whispered.

  Henderson smiled. "When you spend as much time as I did running behind one with a drill instructor screaming at you, the sound kind of gets in your bones."

  Joe nodded, and the three men checked through the curtains from in the shadows. They could see out the window in narrow fields, but it would be very hard for someone outside in the fading light to see into the dark house. Joe clicked the safety on his rifle off and heard the other two do the same.

  "Tangos in sight," Chris whispered from the southeast end of the living room, and there was the muffled thump of a vehicle door slamming. "Two Humvee's, gunners on each--holy shit."

  Chris looked at Joe, his eyes wide, and whispered, "You're not gonna believe this."

  Joe was about to ask what, but just then a man stepped into his field of vision, and he didn't have to. There, in the fading sunset light, a man with a tactical uniform in dark blues and grays walked around to each mailbox in the cul-de-sac. He opened each and stuck a single envelope inside. The man had short dark hair, dark sunglasses, and a very high-end rifle.

  Joe took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and muttered, "Parker..."

  Ch. 18

  Strangers In A Strange Land

  Eric helped Bill sit up and lean his back against the Stop-n-Shop. Bill's face was pale and had a shiny sheen of sweat over it, but his breathing was better and he was able to stay conscious for the most part. Mike had given him two field syrettes of morphine to make the pain more manageable, and for a while Bill had been nearly incoherent from the drugs.

  A makeshift sling held Bill's left arm securely across his chest and helped keep the bulky bandage in place over his shoulder. Eric pulled the wrapping aside and checked the wound. The sugar packed in the wound looked moist, but still solid enough to hold for a bit. As it liquefied, the wound would seep and had to be cleaned out. Then fresh dry sugar could be packed in and seal up the wound once more. It had only been six hours, but already the wound was bleeding less with each dressing change and it seemed to be causing Bill less pain as well.

  Mike and Claire were setting up tents in a large grassy area between the gas station and a small strip mall with a few empty store fronts and for lease signs. Christina helped as Imogene rummaged through their supplies and began setting aside food and water for dinner. There was more inside the store, but none of them had been able to go back inside since Eric had grabbed the sugar to treat Bill's wound.

  "Still attached?" Bill asked through clenched teeth.

  Eric nodded. "Yeah, for the time being. How is it feeling?"

  Bill snorted. "Like I got shot," he growled.

  "Stupid question, I guess," Eric said. "Sorry." There was a brief silence as Eric tried in vain to think up a tactful way to ask his next question. With a small shrug, he whispered, "What happened in there, Bill?"

  Bill frowned. "I've been thinking about that a lot," he said after a moment. "And to tell you the truth, it's all kind of a blur. I went in to grab the gas can. I was bent over and I heard something behind me, so I looked over my shoulder to see what it was. There was a guy standing there in a doorway with a gun on me. I remember I tried to tell him not to be afraid, and I started to turn towards him. Then his eyes got real big, and he shot. The first one missed me, but not by much." Bill shuddered. "I turned towards him,
and the second one caught me high in the left shoulder. The next thing I remember, I was stumbling out into the sunlight, and then it seemed like a good time to lay down."

  Eric nodded and said, "I saw the guy inside. It looks like he was hiding in a janitor's closet. I know it's tough, Bill, but that guy was dangerous. He tried to kill you, and who knows what he'd have done to the rest of us."

  Bill just shook his head slowly. "I spent a long time tracking down bad people," he said after a moment, "and I got really good at it. They come in all sizes, shapes, and colors too, you know. Some of the worst of the worst that I ever saw looked like they should be working the counter at the corner drug store or the library at your neighborhood grade school. After a while, you get to where you recognize it when you see it." Bill pointed to the open doors of the convenience store. "He wasn't a bad guy. He was scared and backed into a corner, and people do crazy stuff when they don't think there's any way out but swinging."

  Bill was quiet for a long moment, and Eric didn't know what to say, so he sat and studied the ground in front of him. After a while, Bill nudged his foot, and said, "You know we're going to have to get him out of there, right? It ain't right to just leave him sittin in there to rot. Besides, there's stuff in there we can use, like the gun he tried to shoot me with."

  Eric nodded. "Mike and I will take care of it. I think Mike feels guilty for not clearing the building when we went in the first time, and to tell you the truth, so do I. We should have checked the rooms in the back, Bill."

  The ex-Texas Ranger waved his good hand. "Forget that crap," he said dismissively. "Who goes into a gas station and thinks about clearing threats? Hell, I was trained to check doors and I didn't."

  Eric thought about that a moment before replying. "I think we need to start thinking about that kind of thing, though," he said. "Between this morning with Claire, and this afternoon with... We're acting like everything is just like it was yesterday, and if we keep it up someone's going to get hurt."