Smith poked his head up, ready for anything.
Pop-pop-pop!
Smith almost dropped the door and jumped down the steps and back to the bunker floor below. But he didn’t, because the gunshots (Gunshots! Those are gunshots!) weren’t being directed at him. In fact, they weren’t even in the same vicinity as him. They were coming from outside.
…they were coming from outside.
He looked up and saw black space and wooden walls. Even as he stuck his head further up and through the opening, Smith could hear what sounded like scratching around him.
No, not scratching.
Shod horse hooves moving around him.
Horses.
Because the animals could hear the gunfire just as he could and were reacting. They might have even been woken up by it. And now, startled, they were agitated and moving around in their stables.
And there was no one inside the room with him.
Smith threw the door all the way open and took the rest of the steps and almost lunged up and outside. He went into a slight crouch, the TASER at the ready, and listened to the continued pop-pop-pop coming from outside.
Two sides, exchanging gunfire.
It’s a party, and no one invited me, Smith thought with a smirk. Time to get in on the fun!
Seventeen
Pop-pop-pop!
Gunshots.
Pop-pop-pop!
A battle.
Pop-pop-pop!
Two sides trying to kill one another.
Fuck yeah.
Chaos was good for Smith because it meant no one was trying to kill him. Call him selfish, but Smith preferred that to having guns pointed at him.
100-friggin-percent.
So the question now was: Who was doing the shooting and why?
Or maybe the better question was: How the hell did he get out of here without getting shot at? Or worse, shot? And it wasn’t just him that he had to worry about. He had Mary and the other four women to take care of, too. Goddammit. That was going to be a pain in the ass.
And to think, the week had started off so well. He’d managed to ditch the girl on the old couple and was free to wander again, like that Kung Fu guy they told him about. But here he was, stuck with four women.
Five, counting Mary.
It was his own damn fault. He should have stayed low when he saw Peoples and his goons. He should have then let Peoples go, after the man’s two flunkies tried to kill him, but Smith had gone after the man instead. He should have… He should have done a lot of things.
So, so many things.
Instead, he’d come back to Gaffney to save Mary and the boy. Or was it just to take out the Judge? Maybe a little of both. Or maybe just most of the latter.
Or the former…
He didn’t know the real answer, even now. He’d been so pissed off that the Judge had double-crossed him. Which was ironic, because Smith had planned to do exactly that to the fat man.
Ha! Maybe he shouldn’t have been so mad at the fucker for doing to Smith first what Smith had been planning to do to him. What’s good for the goose and all that jazz. All that led to now, stuck in a big red barn with five women while people were shooting at each other outside.
The battle wasn’t close enough to the barn that stray rounds were peppering the walls. Smith would have known if they were, because those bullets would have sliced right through the wooden boards as if they were butter. The building was old and rickety and looked painfully weathered. It wouldn’t have been able to stop a flying hot round.
All that brought him back to his predicament. Namely, what was he going to do about Mary and the others? They were his responsibility now.
Or were they?
What did he owe them, really? He didn’t even know their names. He knew Mary, and that was it. One person to take care of was going to be hard enough, but five? He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t this Chang guy the old couple had told him about. He was just John Smith. And that wasn’t even his real—
“John.”
He spun around, raising the TASER in his right hand to fire, but he didn’t pull the trigger because it was just Mary poking her head up through the open door behind him. He hadn’t realized it before, but the lights from the basement below cast an eerie glow in the small room he was standing inside. It wasn’t exactly blinding, but in the middle of the night, with the rest of the barn so dark, it might as well be a spotlight.
“Jesus, Mary,” Smith whispered.
“I’m sorry, but you weren’t answering me,” she said.
“You were calling me?”
“For about a minute.”
He opened his mouth to argue but stopped short. Maybe he’d been too preoccupied with the battle to hear her. Or maybe he’d been too caught up in trying to decide if he should run away and leave the women behind.
He told himself it was the former as he watched Mary climb through the basement door and rush over to him. She was holding onto the other baton and was amazingly quiet, but then he saw that, like him, she wasn’t wearing heavy shoes. Unlike him, though, she didn’t even have socks on.
“What’s happening out there?” Mary whispered.
“A gunfight.”
“Between who?”
“I don’t know. Someone’s attacking the ranch, that’s pretty obvious. But I don’t know who, or why.”
“Shouldn’t we find out?”
“Yeah, we probably should.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“If they’re friendlies…”
“If they’re friendlies. That’s the question, isn’t it?” He glanced back at the glowing bunker entrance behind them. “Wait here.”
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 ther
e 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 opening 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!
After The Purge, AKA John Smith Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 41
