by A. R. Shaw
Remembering the stairs were made of metal, the soles of his boots caught on the grooves, and he altered his steps as the men behind him did and clomped as quietly as he could.
In pitch dark, only when they used the white light on their MP7s did they see where they were going. Austin tapped him on the back and pointed in the dimness to the left at the end of the corridor.
That’s when he heard a shuffling and an exit door slam with difficulty.
“Go now…they’ve exited out the basement back entrance.”
Bishop had to restrain Austin from running out into the open. He first glanced around to make sure the path was clear and then they made a hasty path toward the door, which led up a small flight of concrete stairs, and opened the large metal door to the outside. When he did, Bishop’s heart clenched; Geller and his guards were running toward the Osprey, and there was a low hum in the air as the aircraft powered up.
“Stop them! Take that aircraft!” Bishop yelled, and each man ran forward while shots fired from both ends at the same time; sparks flew from their weapons. Others joined their fight from the parking-garage tower and town.
This was a sight from Bishop’s past returned anew. This was war.
Chapter Seven
“Let’s go,” Maeve said as she ran into Cora’s room, which was adjacent to her own. She’d hidden Ben inside with them, telling them that something wasn’t right down below and ordering them to wait there for her and get ready to go.
When she returned, Cora was there at the door in the darkened hall, with her rifle slung over her shoulder. The kids were both ready with their snow gear on and armed. They slipped out into the hallway with the other residents casting wary glances at them.
She gave them a reassuring smile but at the same time said, “Stay in your rooms with the doors locked” as the echoes of gunshots rang out below. Once at the stairwell, they took the fire exit that led to the parking garage and then to the front of the building. She wished they had time to take Jake, but she knew that would make them more visible and a better target. She had no idea what was happening, but after the worried look in Bishop’s eyes, she wasn’t taking any chances now.
Dragged along by her mother, Louna’s legs couldn’t keep up in breaking through the snowy streets that were very high in areas with drifts, making some places impassable. Cora lifted her child, though attempting to hold a rifle and the girl at the same time slowed them down considerably.
Maeve kept her rifle out before her as Ben stayed by her side with his own. Bishop had practiced this move with them many times, and though they hadn’t made the trek exactly the way he’d trained them, they at least were three blocks away before they stopped and took a breath.
“Okay,” Maeve said, puffing out a cloud of air, the glacial cold stinging her lungs. “Three more to go.” Again gunfire erupted but sounded as if it were changing directions and that too outside instead of within the building.
Above her snow boots, her legs were beyond stinging with a freezing sensation as the snow packed around her limbs. She looked down at her son. Breaking through snow was hard work on its own for a distance, but doing so with gunshots nearby and children to tow made her pulse rush much faster. While they waited behind a brick building, Maeve peeked back at the hotel. “God, please be okay,” she whispered.
But knowing Bishop wouldn’t want her to linger there, she pulled Ben close behind her and nodded to Cora to follow. The younger woman looked panicked but capable. Again, they set out at a fast pace, keeping close to the side buildings, hoping they were shielded. And two more blocks in, another gun blast made her duck instantly to shield her son. When she peered behind her, she found smoke coming from the end of Cora’s rifle and a man dressed all in black lying ten feet away in the snow.
“What happened?”
“He was chasing us! I turned around, and he was right behind us!” Cora yelled as if defending her actions.
“Okay…” she said and took a few tentative steps in his direction. The man who lay still in the snow was dressed in black as the others she’d seen in the lobby.
“I heard him and turned, and he raised his weapon. I didn’t have time to yell,” Cora blurted out and then dropped her daughter into the snow as she heaved out a thick yellow liquid from her mouth and heaved again.
Maeve dropped down to the dead man and picked up his weapon and the extra magazines on his belt and looked over him for anything else useful. She was already weighed down, but these items were too valuable to leave behind. Then patting her friend on the back, she said, “It’s okay, Cora. Let’s go. It was the right thing to do. Come on…we can’t stop now. We’ve got to get out of here.” Handing the MP7 to her son to carry, she scooped up Louna into her own arms and said to her wide-eyed son, “Ben, stay like glue to me, you hear?” She couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice that came out with a quaver.
“Yes, Mom.”
Cora straightened up and lifted her weapon again and followed them but kept darting looks behind them.
With one more block to go, they had to pass through gray open space without any obstacles to take refuge behind in order to reach the storage units. This was always the area when practicing that scared her. Maeve passed Louna back to her mother. The child, terrified, buried her head into her mother’s neck. Maeve peered around the corner to the south toward the frozen lake; still many gunshots echoed out like a shooting gallery. What is going on over there?
Residents ran scared into the gray mist, darting here and there between buildings. Occasional rifle blasts lit up the gray. The scene somehow reminded her of what she thought the civil-war battles must have been like…only much colder now.
What was reassuring was that some of the townspeople were armed, some going toward the sounds of shots and some away. She too wanted to run to where Bishop and the others were fighting but knew she had to follow the plan he’d set in place for them.
And with all the chaos around them, she took the chance and ferried the distance. In no time a bullet whizzed by her head, and she automatically shoved Ben down hard into the snow. Then, knowing she created a greater stationary target, she pulled him up, and they ran the rest of the way, barely making the remaining distance past the metal enclosure, before a few more shots rang off the metal siding with pings echoing out in the frigid air.
“Get in! Get in!” she urged them. Only then did she see crimson blood in the receding light of the closing storage unit door, coming from Cora’s shoulder.
“Cora!”
Chapter Eight
Work crews had kept the snow cleared around the clock over the ice as they thought there were still fish below, though in recent weeks fishing was no longer viable. It seemed nothing lived in the lake any longer or the fish were all frozen through. Since then, work crews kept the trails as clear as they could. It was a never-ending task and one that paid in meals alone.
Through the veil of falling snow, light beamed out from the back end of the Osprey. With the large back hatch lowered, Bishop watched as men carried several large black cases inside and made their way up the incline of the hydraulic lift. They tossed them from one man to the other at times. Whatever was in the cases wasn’t very heavy, but obviously they held tremendous value to make the trip all the way here to retrieve them.
Men yelled out. The rata-tatting of automatic fire rang out, and the smell of gunpowder filled the gray mist surrounding them. He’d been in war before, but this was different. This was here, not China, and this war was for life itself, not property, not a demarcation zone violation…or anything. This was their very lives. The Osprey was the prize. Without the vehicle, they were devoid of hope.
With little time to access the situation to his advantage, Bishop ran into the crowd of men who were now fighting in close quarters. Running forward, Bishop had just slashed through the neck of one of the remaining guards, who’d failed to make his way to the Osprey in time, only to feel a spray of gunshot pellets sting into the back of his thigh. H
e’d barely turned in time to see a soldier to his left hit the snow with a mangled shoulder, his blood spilling out onto the ice.
“Sorry, Bishop, I had to stop him!” yelled the shooter. “He was coming behind you.”
Bishop barely heard the man as he neared the Osprey. Several soldiers were holding them off from the entrance as they attempted to power up the vehicle. He had little time left to gain on them. He didn’t waste time giving orders to the men…they simply watched his moves and followed as well as they could.
“Let’s go!”
He knew that when the hydraulic lift began to rise from the ground, they were in trouble. Spotting another soldier in black instead of the constant hodgepodge of the townspeople, who also noticed his ride was fleeting, Bishop ran like hell and caught up with him, surprising him from behind, but the man turned at the last second, sensing his approach.
With his knife ready in his left hand and the light MP7 in his right, Bishop jumped backward as the soldier raised his own MP7. Bishop beat him to it and sent a stream of shots through his face. Blood sprayed out of his head, and he began to fall. Everything suddenly slowed.
The horrendous drone of the Osprey beyond began a slowing cadence.
The soldier’s right knee began to buckle, twisting his lifeless body to the right, cascading downward onto his side. This happened right in front of Bishop, though his attention wasn’t on the body landing finally onto the ice. Just beyond the dead man, the Osprey lifted a mere foot off the ground, the tailgate door lifting further closed.
There was only one thing left to do. Time regained speed in an instant and in some ways sped up faster than time allowed. Bishop ran like hell. Shots pierced the ice at nearly each step, causing him to continuously change course. Some of the men behind him guessed what his motives were and did their best to keep the private soldiers busy, clearing his path.
Before Bishop made the distance, the Osprey began its vertical lift merely five feet away from him.
With shooters leaning out the side entrance trying to hold back the rest, Bishop weaved between the others fighting and using the fighters before him as cover as he made his way to the lifting tailgate.
With the hydraulic lift already off the ground and closing, Bishop took the last remaining chance and leapt up onto the side of the spare avgas tanks. Immediately, a bullet sparked off the side near his head. Bishop reached through the opening and sent a left hook to the guy’s jaw before he could try that again. Then he pulled the man halfway through as he slung his legs over his unconscious form and hefted himself inside the cargo-bay entrance, leaving the soldier’s body as a wedge in the hydraulic doorway.
Immediately four soldiers, who had their attention drawn through the side doorway picking off the revolt, turned in his direction.
Bishop ducked behind a stack of the cases they’d brought in and braced for incoming fire, but not one shot was fired in his direction. Instead, one man stepped out, pulling his knife from a shoulder harness.
Knife fight, huh? Fuck! What the hell’s in those boxes?
Whatever the mystery contents were, these guys would rather a knife fight than to fire around the cases.
Fine, Bishop thought. Let’s do this.
With his eye on the cockpit, Bishop counted five men. He didn’t like the odds, but he knew he wanted the Osprey more than they did. They were merely hired guns.
Chapter Nine
The flashlight sat on the shelf between them. It was there as always, left in a stationary place for those feeling their way in the dark tomb of the emergency shelter. The batteries kept were fresh and in working order. The black rubber was stiff from the cold temperatures, not like the pliable rubber feel in warmth. The blue button only needed depressing to snap to life.
Maeve reached for it.
In a voice purposely gentle, Maeve said, “Wait, Cora. Let’s take a look.”
As the light cascaded out, Cora already lay where she stood moments before. Her eyes opened in surprise and then turned glassy. Her daughter stood by her side, still clenching her mother’s gloved hand.
A shrill scream from her daughter filled the air, blocking out the sound of the gunfire erupting around them.
Bending down, Maeve felt Cora’s pale neck for a pulse. Her hand came away instead with bright-red blood. Where the shot had entered in through her shoulder, the path proceeded through her chest and now what life remained drained away onto the cold concrete flooring.
“Come, Louna,” Maeve said and pulled the shocked child away from her mother’s lifeless body.
Louna careened and bucked against Maeve’s side. She had the child pinned to her around the waist. Louna still reached for her mother lying dead before them.
“I’m so sorry, Louna,” she said, knowing she had to restrain the girl and pull both her and her own son to the back of the unit to the barricade set up for their safety.
Ben followed as Maeve made her way with the girl in full turmoil, the flashlight showing her the way. Stacks of concrete mix in sturdy brown paper bags lined a small area that she’d helped Bishop build up to make a kind of safety room for them just in case. And with all the bullets careening off the fortified structure, she was thankful for having made the effort even if, at the time, she thought it was overkill.
“Get in,” she said to Ben, who was loaded down with rifles on his small frame. She had no idea how he was able carry them all this way. He certainly wasn’t able to fire one of them while holding the load.
Ben, covered in snow frozen to his clothing, scurried in behind her, and she put Louna down in the dark while closing the makeshift doorway to their little hideout within the shelter.
Then turning to the girl, she hugged her again.
Louna sobbed now, her lungs too weakened already to carry on much longer. And then she began to shiver.
“Hold on, sweetheart.” Maeve pressed her closely and rubbed her back. Ben turned the flashlight upward to illuminate their space. With nearby blankets, her son pulled one of them away, and as Maeve sat down, she cradled the child and enveloped her. Once again, the orphaned girl withdrew into herself as Maeve tearfully rocked her back and forth, all the while glancing at her son’s horrified expression.
Chapter Ten
Dropping the MP7, Bishop pulled his tactical knife in a reverse hold. Skillfully trained, the blade was like an extension of himself; close combat was his favored specialty. However, despite that training, he would need every ounce to get through these guys with his life intact. Getting cut was a given.
Two of the other soldiers seemed confident enough that he wasn’t a menace to them, so they returned to battling the incoming fire they received as the townspeople gained on them from the outside. For reasons Bishop insured earlier, the back tailgate would not close with a body in the way, and the pilot wasn’t lifting off until that obstruction was taken care of, and Bishop was between them and the hydraulic lift.
Two steps forward, and knife guy swung a slice toward Bishop’s clavicle. Hooking the guy’s arm with his left, Bishop bent his arm backward. He heard a clang on the ground as his assailant dropped his knife. Bishop swung his right up and drew his blade deep and long through the other man’s jugular.
He didn’t have time for a victory celebration, as the next guy was on him in no time. This guy kept thrusting his knife out at him but kept his left out further, which was not a good idea, and Bishop taught him why. With one swipe, Bishop drew a bead across the man’s open wrist.
Already the floor was slick with blood.
As the shock settled, Bishop kept his knife moving and his left arm close in, protecting his body, watching the other man’s arms. He tried again, and then Bishop detected movement behind him. When he turned for a brief glimpse, the one-handed warrior stabbed Bishop straight into the thigh.
“Ahhhh!”
Thrusting himself forward, Bishop stabbed the man in front of him up under his ribs and vest plate and right into the heart and then pulled the blade from his thigh,
quickly turning to the sneaker from behind. Keeping both blades going, Bishop hooked a plunge before the blade hit him in the chest but dropped the new knife as he pried his assailants from his grip. A kick to his wounded leg nearly made Bishop scream out but instead he head-butted the guy while the slick floor enabled him to pull his body around as he repeatedly stabbed the guy in the back of the neck.
With a quick check at the cockpit cabin door, Bishop turned his attention to the last guy, who raised his MP7 in his direction. Bishop took his knife and threw it with near-perfect accuracy right into the guy’s throat. He’d had enough of this.
To his sudden horror, the Osprey lifted and was drifting to the right. Picking up the dropped MP7, Bishop limped to the locked cockpit door. The hinged lock was an easy device to deal with. He shot the metal lock open at an angle away from the cargo and placed the gun at the guy in the copilot’s seat—directly at Geller’s head.
“Land it now!”
Mr. Geller sat without intentional movement. He made no attempt at making eye contact with Bishop. Instantly Bishop knew this was who he was: a man who used others for his own gain and was good at playing the top guy. He wasn’t so good on his own, however, and he knew when he was beat.
The pilot took one look at the seeping blood on the floor and shot a glance at Geller for his next order. He was not in any way going to challenge Bishop, knowing the man had done away with several men already to get them.
Bishop thrust his chin out. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” he said and did not repeat himself.
The pilot landed, and Bishop eased him out of his seat after taking away his handgun from his side.
