Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1

by D W McAliley

  "There's a fifth guy," Joe whispered. "Looks like he's getting orders from command somewhere by radio. I don't think they're here by accident, Chris. How do you want to play it?"

  "We go around through the trees," Chris whispered. "Come in through the back door. We get Meg and the baby out the back and into the shed first, and then we deal with them."

  "Look, Chris," Joe said softly, "we can get Meg and the baby and just head out the back. We don't have to go after those guys out front as long as they stay put."

  Chris's eyes were hard as stone when he turned to Joe. "They came to my home, Joe. They put my wife and my child in harm's way."

  "I know," Joe said, and he put a hand on Chris's shoulder. "I'm just saying if we go in guns blazing, we're going to end up putting them in a lot more danger. We've got to be smart, okay?"

  Chris took a deep breath and nodded slowly. He stood and led the way through the trees and around the end of the cul-de-sac. They worked their way slowly and silently around to the back of the house. Chris sat for a minute, surveying the back yard and carefully checking for any contractors, but it was clear. He gave the signal and Joe followed him up the steps to the back door.

  Chris carefully unlocked the double dead bolts and the handle lock. He opened the door slowly and sat for a moment by the opening, listening. When he was satisfied that it was clear, he opened the door and stepped inside, sweeping to his right. Joe followed close behind him, and swept to the left. The pair went room to room throughout the first floor, clearing each room as they went.

  Chris led the way up the stairs and stopped at the top landing.

  "Meg," Chris whispered. "Meg, I'm coming up."

  Chris stepped up and into the hallway at the top of the stairs. Joe covered him from the top step and saw a woman with dark, curly hair stick her head out of the bedroom at the far end of the hallway. She recognized Chris immediately and stumbled out of the doorway to him, a bundle of blankets and quilts in her arms.

  Chris wrapped his arms around her and half carried the two of them down the hall towards Joe. Just then there was a loud pounding on the front door, and Meg jumped.

  "Mrs. Boltzmann," a voice shouted from outside. "I know you are inside, Mrs. Boltzmann, and I know your husband isn't. You have to let us in, ma'am. We have a warrant from the Department of Homeland Security to search the premises. If you don't open the door, ma'am, I have been given permission to break it down. Now I don't want to do that, but you're not giving me much choice. I want you to understand that impeding a federal investigation is a crime, ma'am."

  "That guy's been here for a half hour," Meg whispered angrily. "Woke up Sam and she's been fussy ever since. I was going to open the door until I saw the guns they've got. What the hell is going on, Chris?"

  Chris just shook his head. "No time to explain it right now. What do you think, Joe?"

  "Four man team plus a driver and Mr. Loudmouth," Joe said, shaking his head. "I had hoped we could slip by them, but I don't think that's an option anymore. If they have to breach, they'll come in from the front and back. That will split them up, at least. If we push them to it, though, then there's going to be bullets and blood."

  "You got a better idea?" Chris asked, a hard edge to his voice suggesting that he hoped the answer would be no.

  Joe smiled a cold smile. "Yeah," he said, and pulled his silenced Beretta. "We let Mr. Loudmouth in and have a conversation."

  "How do we do it?" Chris asked.

  "Meg, go put the baby in her crib," Joe said. "Then you go down and tell the guy with the clipboard that you're scared, but you're going to let him in, and only him. When he comes in, you tell him to close the door behind him. When he does, Chris and I will step out and deal with him, got it?"

  "I'm not scared," Meg said, frowning. "I'm pissed off."

  "Fine," Chris said, "be pissed off, but can you do this?"

  "Sam's going to fuss," Meg said, patting the baby on the back softly.

  "Even better," Joe said. "That'll give Mr. Loudmouth out there something to focus on other than you. Now, if he comes to the door with anyone else, you tell him flat out you're not opening it unless it's just him, got it?"

  Meg nodded and walked back down the hall. After a few moments, she emerged from the bedroom without the bundled baby. Sam started wailing as soon as the bedroom door closed, and Meg growled deep in her throat. The look she cast Joe should have been deadly, and she stalked down the stairs. Joe took a position in the office just to the left of the front door, with the door partially closed. Chris slipped into the closet beneath the staircase.

  The man outside knocked on the door again, and Meg yelled, "OKAY! Jesus, please, just stop pounding the door! I'll let you in, but only you, okay? I've got a baby in here, and I don't know what to do!"

  "Okay, Mrs. Boltzmann," the man outside replied. "But my men will have to come in eventually to conduct the search."

  "Okay," Meg said, her voice breaking a little. "But just you first. I need to know I can trust you."

  "I'm alone," the man outside called. "My men are standing down. Now, unlock the door, please."

  Chris stuck his head out of the closet door and nodded. Meg stepped hesitantly forward, clutching her nightgown close around her. She reached up and unlocked the door, then stepped quickly back away from it. The door opened slowly, and a middle-aged man in tactical gear stepped inside. He held a clipboard in his right hand and had a holstered pistol on that same side. He held his hands clear of his body in a non-threatening gesture.

  "Okay, Mrs. Boltzmann," the man said. "I'm alone, just like I said. Now, can my men come do their job?"

  "Close the door, please," Meg said, pointing to the front door. "You'll let bugs inside."

  With a sigh, the man turned, and pushed the door closed. When he turned back to Meg, he found Chris's pistol in his face. The man's eyes went wide and he opened his mouth, but Chris shook his head slightly.

  "You say one word," Chris whispered, "and I'll drop you right here. You make one move I don't like, and I'll drop you right here, got it? The only reason you're breathing right now is cause of him." Chris jerked his head towards Joe, who was just stepping out of the office. "So don't give me a reason to mess up my floors, okay?"

  The man with the clipboard nodded.

  "Good," Chris said. "Now, three steps forward, then down on your knees. Hands behind you and lock your thumbs."

  The man complied, and Joe stepped up behind him. Joe took the man's pistol and handed it to Chris, then patted him down and removed three knives and set them to the side. Joe used nylon zip-ties to secure the man's hands, and he picked up the clipboard. Joe and Chris pulled the man to his feet, walked him slowly to the living room, and dropped him roughly on the couch. Chris pulled a pillowcase from one of the pillows in the closet and dropped it over the man's head, then pulled Meg off to the side.

  "Go get the baby quiet," Chris whispered, looking back at the man on the couch. "We're going to have a nice little talk with our new friend over there. Whatever you hear, you keep the baby upstairs until I come get you, okay?"

  Meg nodded, tears streaming down her face for the first time.

  "It's okay, baby," Chris said soothingly. "I'm here now, and nothing's going to happen. You just go take care of Sam. Joe and I will take care of... this."

  Meg nodded and wiped away the tears as she climbed the steps. Joe sat on the coffee table across from the man and Chris stood behind him. When Joe nodded, Chris took the man's hood off and held the detached suppressor from his Beretta against the back of the man's head where he couldn't see it, but could definitely feel the pressure. The man's eyes went wide again, and the color drained from his face.

  "Good," Joe said. "Now you know we're serious. I've got some questions for you....and for your sake, I sure hope you have the answers..."

  Ch. 25

  The Beaten Path

  Eric turned the pickup onto a gravel road that wound through a thick stand of old growth trees. On the right side
of the dirt path, the gray and sagging remnants of a barn were barely visible beneath a shroud of honeysuckle and kudzu vines in the gray pre-dawn light. Briars and weeds grew right up to the edge of the faded road, and decades of hard rain and poor maintenance made for a rough ride. Bill winced and groaned at every bump and jar, but he never said a word. Imogene sat between them, rubbing Bill's shoulder tenderly and looking worried. Christina and Mike in the back didn't fare much better, but they managed to stay in the truck despite the bouncing and shaking.

  Eric drove almost to the dead-end of the road and pulled the truck around behind the crumbling ruins of a once massive farmhouse. Three sentry oaks stood in the overgrown wilderness that had once been a yard and they cast deep shadows over the truck and what was left of the house. The second story at some point in the distant past had collapsed, but the first floor had somehow absorbed the impact. The result was a kind of one and a half story tall jumble of old timbers, broken windows, and rusted tin roofing.

  "How did you ever find this place?" Bill asked, looking around and shaking his head. "It's like something I'd have see out in Bargersville, Texas growing up. Never woulda guessed you had humps like this in a big city."

  Eric smiled. "When I was a kid, I had a cousin that grew up in this area," he replied. "Back then it wasn't all track houses and strip malls. This was country roads, fields, and places like this. I'd spend a few weeks every summer around here with my cousins, and we found this place on one afternoon looking for places to fish. There was a little old lady lived here then, and she let us fish in the pond on the back edge of the woods if we'd keep her yard raked for her."

  "What happened to the little old lady?" Imogene asked, looking out the window at the collapsing house."Not sure," Eric replied. "My cousin moved away when I was eleven, and I didn't move to this area for fifteen years. I came here just to see if this place was still here the summer I moved to Charlotte and found it like this."

  Mike and Christina had climbed down out of the bed of the truck and were stretching their legs. Eric got out of the cab and joined them as Mike helped Bill and Imogene out of the other side. Eric walked around the yard a bit and peered into the windows of the house with his flashlight, checking for any squatters. There was some new graffiti on the walls and a few empty beer bottles; calling cards for local teenagers, no doubt. Other than that, though, the house was clear.

  Satisfied, Eric hopped down from the porch and joined the rest of the group. Imogene was carefully cleaning out Bill's shoulder wound and he was trying not to let the pain show. Mike sat in the leaf litter with his back against the truck and his eyes closed and Christina was idly picking at a broad oak leaf. Every set of eyes turned to Eric, though, and they looked at him expectantly.

  Eric cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable being the center and focus of so much attention. "Okay," he said at last, "I think we're out of the way enough here that no one will accidently stumble on us. From right here, we're about a mile and a half, maybe two miles from my house as the crow flies. If I stick to the woods, I think I can make it there and back before sundown."

  "You're not going alone, are you?" Christina asked.

  "Well, I was hoping not to," Eric said, casting a meaningful glance at Mike.

  When the silence stretched, Mike looked up from his seat on the ground and shrugged. "I'll go wherever you need me to," he said dejectedly.

  Eric nodded. "We can go through the woods and stay off the roads as much as possible. It'll be tough, and it'll slow us down, but I don't want to risk getting spotted or running into people at this point."

  "What's so important that you need to get, son?" Bill asked.

  "I've got food," Eric said. "Long-term storage food supplies. My dad got it for me for Christmas a few years back. I asked for a flagship laptop for gaming and I got twenty five hundred bucks worth of freeze-dried food instead. I thought it was the lamest present ever, but he told me to stick it in the back of a closet in case something bad happened one day. I never could get him to talk about what he thought might happen where I'd need a six month supply of freeze-dried food. Anyway, I've got a few guns there too, and some ammo. I think we're going to need as much of that as we can get our hands on. There's some other stuff too, odds and ends mostly, but the food alone is enough."

  Bill nodded. "Okay, son, I see your point. You're right, we need something more substantial than beef jerky and granola, and I don't think stopping by the local Piggly Wiggly is gonna get it at this point. More likely that would turn into the O.K. Corral or something."

  "I want to go with you," Christina interrupted, tears gathering in her eyes.

  Eric took both of her hands in his. "Listen, Tina," he said softly, "this isn't going to just be a walk in the woods. We've got to move fast and quiet, and we might run into trouble. I couldn't stand the thought of you getting hurt or something on the way. I'll be back before you know it, okay?"

  After a long moment, Christina finally nodded. Mike stood and dusted himself off before digging through the back of the truck. He hesitated then pulled out a bundle and thrust it towards Eric.

  "Here," Mike said gruffly. "It used to be Claire's. She wasn't a small woman, and you're not a huge guy, so maybe it'll fit you."

  Mike walked off, and Eric unrolled the flannel shirt that wrapped the bundle. Inside was a belt of thick, highly polished leather that held a holstered Beretta 9mm pistol, a leather pouch for two extra magazines, a heavy metal flashlight, and a collapsible tactical baton. There was a detachable leather case with a shiny pair of handcuffs, complete with keys and a small leather pouch for a can of mace as well.

  Eric swallowed back a lump in his throat as he buckled the belt around his waist. It was a little tight, but not uncomfortably so. Eric tested the draw on the pistol and found it easy and smooth. Satisfied with the balance and the weight of the rig, Eric gave Christine a long hug and kiss. Before he could stop her, Imogene wrapped him up in a tight, grandmotherly embrace, and she patted his back as if she were trying to burp him. He waved to the two women and turned to go. As he walked down the driveway to where Mike stood, Bill followed with him. The three walked fifty yards or so down the road in silence; then Bill stopped and faced Mike and Eric with a serious frown on his face.

  "Listen, fellas," he said softly, "you watch yourselves out there. Don't trust anyone you don't know, and don't let your guard down for a second. People are going to be scared and getting desperate by now." Bill reached up and rubbed his freshly bandaged left shoulder. "And we saw yesterday what can happen when someone gets scared and desperate."

  Eric and Mike nodded and the silence stretched for a moment before Eric finally said, "Listen, Bill, if we don't make it back by sundown, you need to take the women and go. Head south from here to Fort Mill, then head east. I saw your roadmap in the truck, and it's pretty detailed. Follow the back roads north from Wadesboro and head for Bennett, NC. I've got family there, and the people are good. They should help you guys."

  Bill shook his head. "We'll be here when you get back," he said simply with a firm nod.

  Before anyone could say another word, Bill turned and walked back to the truck.

  Ch. 26

  Cat Got Your Tongue?

  Joe leaned forward slowly, carefully, keeping eye contact with the man on the couch the entire time. Neither of them blinked, but the man's eyes widened a little, and the air started coming in and out faster and harder through his nose. His jaw clenched just a little before he caught himself and forced it to relax again. Joe carefully kept even the slightest hint of a smile from his lips; the man was cracking.

  "Look," Joe said quietly, almost soothingly, "I don't know what you've heard about us, okay? I don't really care. The truth is I have to hurt people sometimes for my job. I don't like it, but there it is. You do that too, don't you?"

  The man just stared hard at Joe for a long moment, the silence between them broken only by the sound of his breathing.

  Finally, Joe sat back and crossed his ar
ms in front of his chest. He looked up at Chris and shrugged slightly. "Okay, I guess he doesn't want to play ball. We'll see if the next one will."

  Chris came around to the front of the couch, his Beretta in hand. He made a show of attaching the suppressor back to the barrel, and leveled it at the man's forehead.

  "You see," Joe said conversationally, "normally we'd use some of those enhanced interrogation tactics you've heard so much about, and we'd draw the truth out of you the same way they draw sap out of a maple tree... one drop at a time." Joe shrugged again. "But we just don't have time for that right now. So, here's the deal. You either start talking now, or my friend Mr. Boltzmann here is going to repaint his living room in a few days. We'll tell your boys you didn't talk, and then shove your body out the door and ask for the next volunteer. Either someone will step up, or we'll take them out while they're trying to figure out what to do next...." Joe paused for a long breath. "Or you can start talking and save us the trouble."

  The man was starting to sweat now. A thin, shiny sheen of it coated his forehead and down the side of his nose. He glanced up at Chris and the Beretta in his hand and then looked like he wished he hadn't. Joe sat slowly forward on the coffee table once more until the man's eyes were on a level with his.

  With the thumb of his right hand, he hooked a throng of leather out from under his shirt. On the necklace was a row of bottle caps, each pierced through the center with a single bullet hole. The caps at one end were so worn that there was no paint left on them, and the corners were dented and dull. At the opposite end, some of the caps had paint, though scratched and faded.

  "Yeah, sometimes I have to really hurt people for my job," Joe said softly. "What do you think each one of these stands for? I don't know their names, but they're here. I've already got to add two to this thing for tonight. Do you really want to make it three?"