The McClane Apocalypse Book Eight

by Kate Morris

  K-Dog’s wife, Anita, is there working on the wounded with her husband. She is doing whatever she can but is not a nurse or doctor. Simon slings both rifles to Kelly’s care and gets to work. He takes off his pack and kneels beside one of the men, who is holding a white rag to his bloody side.

  “Let me take a look, sir,” Simon implores and rests his hand on top of the man’s for just a second to reassure him.

  He has clearly been gut shot, but upon further inspection, it seems as if the bullet has passed through, clean through his back. In the distance, the shooting continues.

  Kelly rests his hand on Simon’s shoulder for a moment before looking at K-Dog and then back to Simon and saying, “We gotta get back out there, little brother. I’ll try to get you an evac for these people. Till then, do what you can.”

  “I’ll help,” Anita offers. “Tell me what you need. We’ll get it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answers. “Go, Kelly. Get out of here.”

  Kelly nods and takes off with K-Dog.

  “I need sterile towels and hot water,” he orders.

  Then Simon gets to work as a triage nurse, trying to assess whose injuries are more life-threatening and the most urgent. He finds a woman shot in the upper right quadrant of her chest. Her breathing is labored. The bullet passed through, coming out through the fatty tissue and muscle near her scapula. He decides to treat her first.

  “Press here,” he orders Anita, who does as he says. “Keep pressure on the wound. Lots of pressure, Anita.”

  Then he steps away to talk to the men over his mic, “We need to get these injured people out of here. We have critically wounded who aren’t going to make it if we don’t move them now.”

  He waits a second to get a response and walks back to stabilize the woman.

  “Easy, talk to me,” he tells her. “Try to calm down. Are you having trouble breathing?”

  “Yes, I’m scared. Don’t let me die, Doctor,” she begs with fright clearly showing in her eyes.

  “I won’t. Stay calm,” he orders patiently as he tries to listen to her chest. It’s clear. There isn’t wheezing. He’s not sure if she can’t breathe because her lung has been punctured or because she is in shock. “Give me a deep breath. You can do it. Good.”

  She’s clear. She’s just in shock and panicking.

  He turns to find a teenager there to assist him. He believes he may be the son of Anita, “Keep her calm. Press down here.”

  Simon rushes to another person who has been shot in the back and takes a listen to his lungs and his heart. This man is not so lucky because the bullet is still inside and has not passed through. He is bleeding, but the blood is coming out in a slow leak, which should mean that a main artery has not been hit.

  “I can’t feel my legs, Dr. Murphy,” the man says, obviously remembering him from the clinic in town. “I got no feeling from the waist down. Am I paralyzed?”

  “Just take a deep breath, sir,” Simon orders. “Easy now. Stay calm. Don’t panic. I’m here to help, and we’re going to get you all out of here.”

  Simon presses bandaging against the man’s wound. He doesn’t know if he will be paralyzed or not, but he is confident they can get that bullet out. He’s going to need Doc’s help.

  He moves on to a man who has been shot just below the knee. Simon whips out a tourniquet and ties it off tightly.

  “Damn it!” Kelly shouts as he runs toward him, the front door having been left open. “Professor, I need you in that tower to the south.”

  “But what about my patients?”

  “They’ll have to wait. They’re hitting the wall with RPG’s and a battering ram. These assholes just don’t quit.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon answers and looks at Anita’s son. “Just keep the pressure to these people’s wounds until we can get them moved. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  He grabs his rifles and rushes out the front door behind Kelly. Passing a frightened woman on the way, he shouts at her, “Go help the medics. They need help back there!”

  She nods shakily and turns to go. At least the kid will have some help. It’s better than nothing.

  He jogs to the south tower, somewhat familiar with the layout of Paul’s condo community and their guard towers.

  John is there now and yells above the melee, “We’ll cover you. Climb!”

  Simon hurries up the ladder to the top of the second-story platform while John and his group provide cover fire to keep him from being shot and killed. When he gets there, he can easily see why they need him. Their other sniper from Parker’s group lies dead in the erected, wooden tower. He wonders if he’ll be next.

  “Behind you,” Cory says as he joins him.

  Simon hefts himself onto the platform, kneels behind the wall, which is double layered with metal to prevent the guard from being shot, and waits for Cory to do the same.

  “What’s the situation?” Simon asks.

  Cory points to their south and says, “RPG’s coming in hot and fast, continuous. We gotta figure out who’s doing it and take them out. You get them. I’ll take care of the battering ram assholes.”

  Just then, a loud explosion rocks the tower and the ground below them. Men’s bodies go flying into the air. Something other than a simple RPG has been fired at them. This is a new threat.

  “Fucking mortar fire?” Cory shouts. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. Take out those assholes, too, Prof.”

  Simon nods and prepares to scan the area through his starlight scope. He avoids wasting time looking in the near vicinity because these rounds, mortar and RPG, are coming from further away. Beside him, Cory tap-tap-taps out a rhythm of suppressive fire. Simon has no doubts that not all of it is only to suppress but to kill. He’s not a big waster of ammo.

  Within a few minutes, another mortar round is fired into the complex and lands on a condo unit, the noise deafening, the earth shaking. He takes a steadying breath to calm his rattled nerves and ringing ears and tries to zero in on whoever is doing that. He doesn’t see a mortar, but Simon does spot two men firing RPG’s farther down the road. He takes very careful aim because he doesn’t want to just frighten them off. These rats will return to another area and begin firing anew. He breathes deep. He squeezes, letting the shot startle him. One target disabled. The man will not get up from that one. Simon has hit him center mass in the chest. The other one using the RPG gets spooked and turns to run. Simon leads the shot and squeezes again. Smack, the deadening thud hits the man square in the middle of his back. He will either bleed out, be crippled for life, or will die instantly.

  “Good job, Professor. Good shots,” Cory praises. “Now find that asshole with the mortar I’m heading down to take out the morons at the front gate.”

  “Yep,” Simon answers calmly.

  He scans slowly but doesn’t come up with the shooters. He knows they could be very far away. Mortar rounds can travel from miles away. Simon adjusts his scope and scrutinizes the area farther out. Then he hears it. Another mortar round is coming.

  Simon shouts down to the group, some of whom are family, “Take cover! Incoming!”

  He gets right back on his scope scanning carefully. He finds them. The man firing the mortar is smoking a cigarette. Simon spots him through his scope, picking up on the light from the tip of his cigarette. There are also men running around with flashlights that give away their position. He is nearly a mile away, maybe further. He can just barely see them through his scope, which is not equipped for this range in the dark. It’ll be a difficult shot, likely impossible. Simon is doubting his ability, but he knows he must take that man out of the equation. And from what he can tell, the man has many friends scurrying around the area with him, probably helping load the shells. They have brought a full artillery assault and have no plans of losing this. Simon feels the same way. They cannot allow these thugs and animals to take over this community. Simon knows these people do not take prisoners. Their friends, even the women and children will be murdered, some
may also be raped first.

  He presses his hand to his throat mic and says, “I gotta come down. I can’t hit him from this range. I know where the mortaring is coming from. There’s a pack out nearly two clicks.”

  John immediately says, “Cory and Luke will ride shotgun.”

  “Got it.”

  He climbs quickly down again and runs to the back gate, immediately met by Luke.

  “Where’s Cory?” he asks over the noise of gunfire.

  “Pinned down working with another group now. It’s just me and you.”

  “Let’s go,” he says, slightly nervous about the fact that he hasn’t ever really fought with Luke.

  They double-time it and run through the woods. Simon sprints up a steep incline, intending on flanking them. Luke grabs his arm to halt him. Then he signals to the bottom of another short hill. They have circumvented two men, who are clearly supposed to be watching the woods on this side of the battle for stragglers. He and Luke have gotten lucky by not being seen. One of the men is urinating behind a tree, his partner ten yards from him smoking a cigarette, or perhaps a joint by the way he is smoking it and holding the inhale for a long time. They are not taking their job too seriously.

  “I’ll take the one…” Simon starts.

  “No, I’ve got this. We can’t alert the men on the mortar launcher that we’re closing in. Wait here and cover.”

  Luke slinks away before Simon can argue. He hopes his new friend knows what he’s doing. Simon squats, rests his weight on one knee and brings his rifle up to watch the area so that Luke isn’t shot in the back. He can see him moving through the woods, but Simon doesn’t hear him. He is as silent as a doe sneaking around. Simon swings left and then right, keeping a keen eye open. Then he swipes back to watch the men in case they spot Luke. They don’t. One man is already on the ground. Simon observes as Luke takes the other man by surprise, the pot smoker, and slices his neck. He allows the man to slide down to the ground as silently as he just crept up on them. Then he is sprinting back to Simon. He nods as if nothing has happened, and they continue on, Simon in shock at what he’s just witnessed. He had no clue that Luke was so lethal.

  They close in on the men surrounding the launcher, and Simon signals for Luke to flank to the other ridge. Simon likes his position where he is for sniping but doesn’t want anyone to escape their wrath. Luke waves his laser in a circle toward Simon, which only they can see unless there are others in the woods with night-vision. He hopes they are high enough that the men below them cannot spot their laser pointers.

  He takes a deep breath and zeroes in on the man who is getting ready to launch another mortar. Simon squeezes, disabling the man with a headshot. He deserves this. Firing mortar rounds on innocent people is a sickening thing to do. Luke wastes no time and fires, as well. He takes out another man. Simon hits one who is in the middle of diving for cover behind a tree. Luke does the same. Two other men run. Simon leads one and pegs him in the leg. He goes down, and Simon shoots again but misses because the man rolls down a hill. He scans the area as Luke continues to pop off rounds. He sees another person trying to escape, so he takes a shot, wings him in the shoulder. Another squeeze and he has killed him. Luke is holding his own as he takes down another person. Simon hopes none of these people are teenagers.

  He moves in closer and meets Luke at the bottom of the hill. They have taken out everyone in this cluster. There are no survivors.

  He calls it in to John, “Targets disabled. We’re coming back.”

  “Roger, Professor,” John answers. “Get back to the wounded and send Luke to Kelly.”

  “Affirmative,” Simon says and adds, “Be advised, there were men hiding in the woods as lookouts.”

  “We know. Cory found a few.”

  It is all that is needed said. If Cory found them, then they are dead.

  “Let’s take this with us,” Luke suggests, indicating the mortar tube.

  “We can hide it and come back for it,” Simon adds.

  “Good. Where the hell’d they get an M224 anyway?”

  Simon shakes his head and says, “Same place all these creeps get everything. They steal.”

  “Right,” Luke agrees.

  He’s not sure how Luke knows what caliber and model it is, but he seems rather proficient in military weaponry. He is also quite capable with the AK47 he’s carrying, even though, in Simon’s opinion, they have too loud of a bark. He prefers the smooth action of his sniper rifle to the more rustic and heavy design of the foreign rifles.

  They pick it up, both carrying one side. It is heavy but manageable with both of them lifting it. They walk quickly back up the hill. They have quite a distance to go, and both keep an eye out for more jerks in the woods to come upon them and kill them. They stash the launcher away behind the condo compound in some thick weeds when they get there. The fighting is still going on, but now they will be able to gain the upper hand.

  He is admitted entrance again through the compound’s back gate and heads straight for the medical facility. There is a pick-up truck out front that is now holding three of the wounded in the bed. Simon checks on the ones still in the house. There are many more now.

  “The mortar fire,” Anita’s son explains. “People were hurt by the debris that went flying. One landed on the house down the street. Kids were in there hiding. We thought it was safe.”

  Simon rushes to a particularly bloody child, not more than ten years old, and kneels beside him. He slings his pack to the ground digs in it for gauze bandaging. The child has a head wound that is bleeding down her forehead. She is crying loudly.

  “Easy, little one,” Simon assures her as he examines her scalp. He looks at Anita’s son, who has come to assist him again. “She’s going to need stitches.”

  “There’s another little boy who keeps saying his arm hurts,” the young man says. “I think it’s broke. I don’t know.”

  “Here, hold this pressed against her laceration. I’ll be right back.”

  Simon rises and runs to the other room where three more children are sitting either on furniture or the floor and are being treated by the citizens of the community.

  “Doctor!” one of the women yells. “Help over here!”

  He speeds past the others and looks at the teenage girl lying on the kitchen table. There is a deep laceration on her head and another on her right shoulder. She is also unconscious and unresponsive.

  “We think she was hit by debris,” the woman says. “Our house was bombed, the roof caved in. Allie was upstairs hiding with her little sister. We had no idea she was in danger up there. Oh, this is all our fault.”

  Simon suspects the woman is her mother but doesn’t have time for small talk. He listens to her breathing, which is even but shallow. Then he checks her pulse, which is a little slow. He bandages her head tightly. The real worry is the cause of her loss of consciousness and if she has any serious head trauma or eventual brain damage.

  “Don’t let that truck leave yet,” Simon says into his throat mic.

  “You got it, Professor,” someone answers over his earpiece, although he isn’t sure which person it was since it wasn’t John or Kelly. He thinks it might’ve been Dave the Mechanic, but Simon thought he hadn’t come to this fight. Some of his men were dispatched, but Dave was detained at the compound for other problems.

  “You two!” Simon calls to several young men standing in the doorway. “I need to move her stat.”

  They hurry over, dread on their young faces, and Simon shows them how to transport her to the truck.

  He checks on three other patients who have minor cuts, abrasions and some lacerations that will require stitches. Most are in shock or in a state of paralyzed fear. He’s thankful that the shooting victims have only added another two in numbers, and both he can handle himself because they are mere grazes instead of fully impacted bullet wounds.

  Simon goes outside again and finds Dave and Sam’s uncle by the truck. They must’ve just arrived. “We gotta
get them to Doc at the clinic in town.”

  Sam’s uncle rounds the other side of the vehicle, and Simon nods to him.

  “I’m going, too,” he tells Simon.

  “Good. Some of them are in really bad shape.”

  Simon proceeds to tell him which ones are more critical than others. Within moments Dr. Scott is speeding away with three of Dave’s best soldiers toward Pleasant View.

  “Has Dr. McClane been advised?” he asks Dave.

  “It was either call him or have us dumb jocks sew these people back together,” Dave says with his usual humor and chill attitude as rounds are being fired not fifty yards from them in an all-out battle for their lives and the lives of their friends. “Got him comin’ to town in the middle of the night on an ER call. Poor old dude. This shit’s gotta be hard on him.”

  “He doesn’t mind,” Simon reassures him. “He wants to help.”

  “Twilight of his retirement,” Dave jokes.

  “Sir, should I get back in this or treat the injured?” he asks.

  Dave shakes his head and says, “Nah, I brought another dozen men with me. It’s all but over now. They’re full-on fucked. Got a call from the men Derek sent to blockade the roads. They’ve already caught at least twenty or more fucking cockroaches. Some were set up there to prevent us from escaping, and some were in the middle of trying to escape themselves. Dumbasses.”

  “I don’t think they were prepared to meet with this much resistance,” Simon comments.

  “This ain’t fuckin’ Disney World. Those dudes are fuckin’ well-fucked. Later, Professor.”

  Simon watches as the world’s most prolific cusser jogs away as if he’s just out for a Sunday run before church. His Garand is out front at the ready, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and his knife hand is issuing commands to his men as he goes. Simon frowns, shakes his head, and runs back to the condo-turned-medical clinic and meets Lucas there.

  “John sent me to help,” Luke says.

  He has worked with him a few times at the family’s clinic in town. Although Luke’s preferred science was research and DNA studies, he has been very valuable at their clinic and has helped immeasurably when Sam isn’t present.