“Perhaps, or we die in a blaze of glory. That might sound nice to you, but I’m not a soldier,” Calvin argued and took Naomi by her upper arms. “Please, speak reason to your brother.”
Naomi stared into the terror in her husband’s eyes. She looked past him at Allen, who watched her with his intense, sorrowful gaze. She said to her husband. “Calvin…” By the inflection in her voice, he let go of her and began pacing.
“I trusted the Ryans,” Naomi explained. “Look where that ended? Allen’s right. I can’t make the same mistake again.”
“Great,” Calvin said dreadfully. “We’re going to die.”
Allen pulled away from the window. “Get your weapon and get ready. We don’t know what they have planned in the next few minutes, but it won’t be good.”
Naomi grabbed one of the pistols and a shotgun. She might not have the best aim in the world, but the buckshot could turn her miss into a hit. If she could injure someone, the rest would run to his aid. That would hurt them more than just a dead man. It was undoubtedly a dark tactic, but Naomi couldn’t have the luxury of playing fair. She assumed her opponent could care less as well.
Calvin grabbed a long rifle and pistol.
He moved to another window that overlooked the woods.
Naomi moved in next to him. “We’ll get through this.”
Calvin smiled at her. It wasn’t the happy kind. It was utter dread. Saying nothing, he turned back to the window. Naomi moved in with her brother.
She could see faint shapes moving in the woods, but it was entirely too dark to see what was happening.
When all the movement stopped, Naomi assumed the three minutes had ended.
Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. One stung her eyes. The shotgun stock nestled against her arm.
She watched.
Waited.
Thump.
A cylindrical can launched out the tree line and bounced on the balcony, rolling to the window.
The cap popped.
Orange mist hissed out.
Naomi recognized a similar item from Philadelphia.
“Tear gas,” Allen whispered.
Suddenly, the gas started gushing.
“Back away from the window!” Allen yelled.
All of them dashed back as orange tendrils of smoke slipped through every gap between the planks and reached toward them.
Calvin and Naomi quickly covered their mouths with their shirts.
Covering his mouth, Allen rushed into his room, the door nearest the balcony, while Calvin and Naomi moved away.
The gas trailed into Allen’s room.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
The noise came from downstairs.
“Axes at the front door,” Calvin said.
Another series of whacks hammered the back door as well.
The tear gas was moving closer to Naomi and Calvin. Their backs pressed against the far wall.
Suddenly, Allen burst out of his room. The gas parted against his tree-trunk legs as he darted to them. Naomi locked eyes with his gas mask. He handed one to her and one to Calvin.
“Put these on,” he said, sounding like a sinister robot.
Naomi slung hers over her head and adjusted it to align the goggles with her eyes. It stunk of sweat and dirt. The lens had foggy stains around the rims of her vision.
“Downstairs!” Allen commanded.
Calvin hesitated, “But--”
“Now!” Allen roared.
Trusting the professional, Naomi and Calvin darted down the stairs after him.
The top corner of an axe head breached the wooden planking.
Men shouted outside. “Open the door!”
“We don’t bite!”
“Come on, girl! Let me inside!”
“Wooooo!”
Allen raced through the hallway, aimed his rifle at the front door, and squeezed the trigger.
Like the sound of raging thunder, bullets tore through the old wood and peppered the shouting axe men.
The shouts quickly turned to screams.
Movement could be seen through the bullet holes.
“Get down!” Allen barked.
The three of them dropped prone as rifle rounds and shotgun slugs ripped through the door and zipped overhead.
Tha-whack! Tha-whack! Tha-whack!
The hard sound of splitting wood sounded from the upstairs balcony door, Naomi’s final exit.
“Basement,” Allen yelled.
Naomi and Calvin crawled after him, bruising their elbows on the hardwood.
Bullets continued zipping overhead.
Two more slugs blasted a hole through the front door. The barrel of some sort of cannon shoved into the gap and launched a can of tear gas into the hallway.
It hit Calvin’s arm. He yelped in pain.
Naomi got up to her feet and pulled open the basement door.
As the orange gas filled her vision and tickled her skin, she bolted down the stairs. Unable to see, she missed a step, sending her tumbling head-first to the bottom. She landed on her back, her shotgun skidding across the floor.
The wind was knocked out of her. She gasped and gulped desperately for air.
Hurried footsteps dashed down the stairs followed by a heavier set of boots.
The door slammed shut.
A lock clicked.
“I can’t see anything. Hold on.” Calvin flicked on a lighter, seeing Naomi at the bottom of the stairs.
He cursed under his breath and ran to his wife.
Meanwhile, Allen slowly walked backwards down the steps. He kept his assault rifle aimed at the door.
Calvin shook Naomi’s shoulder. “Honey? Naomi? Get up.”
Something fell down outside the basement door, presumably the front or back door. Muddled shouting and fast footsteps raced through the hallway above.
Calvin pulled back Naomi’s mask. He held up the lighter, illuminating the side of his gas mask. The black paint was chipped and scuff marks scarred the plastic.
Allen reached the bottom of the stairs. “How is she?”
Naomi found her breath. “I’m… Go--”
“Good,” Allen said, cutting her off. “Calvin, there are candles in the back. Light them.”
Calvin looked between Allen and Naomi.
Naomi smiled weakly to show him she was okay.
Calvin quickly got up and moved through the rows of packed shelves. “I didn’t realize you had so much stuff, Allen. Holy crap.”
“Just worry about the candles.”
A moment later, there was light in the back of the basement.
Feeling the fresh bruises on her back and her head, Naomi sat up.
Calvin rejoined them. “Maybe it's not too late for the peace treaty.”
He must’ve lost his rifle somewhere along the way because he only had the pistol tucked in his belt line.
An axe chopped at the door.
Insane laughter could be heard on the other side.
The axe chopped again.
“I’m serious,” Calvin said, his mask unable to hide the fear in his voice. “This has gone too far. Let’s just surrender.”
“We have what they want,” Allen said firmly, eyes on the door. “They’ll have to come down here to get it.”
Calvin drew out his pistol. “The moment they breach that door, the time for negotiation is over. You realize that?”
Allen aimed his rifle up at the door. “There’s another way out of the basement, but being here is our chance to bottleneck them.”
Calvin put his head forward. “Another way? What?”
The basement door neared bursting.
Allen dropped to a knee and aimed. “Naomi, go to the far right wall. Push aside the shelf.”
Naomi jogged over that way. There was one shelf that stood out. “This one?”
“Yes.”
Cursing, Calvin ran over to Naomi and helped her push. Straining their muscles, they got the shelf to slide away and reveal the secret tunnel
beyond.
The basement door broke from its hinges and violently skipped down the steps.
As the door fell away, a plume of orange smoke rolled in like mist from a portal.
Aiming down the sight, Allen pulled the trigger.
The recoil of the weapon pounded his thick shoulder. Jets of fire leapt from his barrel.
A can of tear gas shot down the steps and punched Allen’s chest. He staggered back as the orange smoke erupted around his feet and quickly swirled up his legs and chest. Just as it curled around his mask, he yelled. “Into the tunnel! Go!”
A second later, he was an ominous silhouette in the orange mist.
Feeling the smoke starting to sting her exposed eyes, Naomi rushed for the secret corridor.
Allen’s muzzle flashes blinked in the gas as he shot more bullets up the stairs.
Naomi waited at the front of the secret corridor. “I’m not leaving you!”
Calvin was ten feet deep into the tunnel.
The enemy returned fire. Mason jars shattered, and bullets punched through cans of green beans. Stacks of IV bags sprayed out clear fluid.
Keeping his head low, Allen escape the barrage of fire.
A bullet struck him in the back of his shin.
He gasped and dragged his injured leg behind him.
Naomi screamed “Allen!”
A gas mask-wearing intruder descended the steps.
Bam! Bam!
Two more small bullets punched Allen’s back.
Grunting in pain, he twisted back and shot the man on the stairs.
The man’s body rolled down the steps, hitting the bottom and sprawling out limply on the cold concrete. Another shooter descended. A few shots to the chest put an end to him.
Grimacing, Allen reloaded his rifle and tossed it to Naomi.
Oof-ing, Naomi caught the heavy weapon. A look of confusion overtook her face.
“Cover me,” he commanded. Instead of running inside, Allen grabbed two vertical bars on the shelf and started pulling it in front of the entrance.
“What are you doing?!” Naomi exclaimed as Allen sealed her in.
“I’ll only slow you down.”
Flattened bullets wedged in the concealed Kevlar beneath Allen’s jacket. Blood trickled down his pant leg.
Two more thugs darted down the stairs.
Naomi shot at them. The bullets arced around them, missing completely, but scared them back up the stairs.
Allen continued pulling the shelf as if closing a sliding door in front of her.
“Allen, please!” Naomi cried and pulled at his sleeve.
Behind his gas mask, her brother said, “Survive, sis.”
He moved the shelf the rest of the way.
5
Departure
Darkness enveloped Naomi as the last sliver of light was sealed off.
Muffled gunfire sounded behind the shelf.
She stumbled back, listening to the gunshots and a body falling limp. It felt like everything was crumbling around her. Tears raced down her face as orange gas seeped through the cracks in the shelf’s backboard.
Calvin took her wrist and pulled her along. “Keep moving, Naomi. There’s no time to look back.”
His voice seemed so far away.
The next thing she knew, the place Allen was defending grew farther and farther away. She was suddenly bombarded with countless childhood memories: the times they played army in the barn with sticks shaped like guns; in middle school when Allen beat up a bully picking on Naomi and got suspended for three days; the meals they shared over the holidays; the triumphant return after Allen’s tours overseas; their small moments of connection during the last seven years. Naomi regretted not calling him more. The memories moved like bullets through Naomi’s mind. They entered quickly and left just as fast, filling her with fiery bursts of pain.
Guided by a tiny lighter flame, Calvin led her through the black corridor.
The tunnel traveled diagonally underground until it reached a metal rung ladder bolted into concrete.
“Wait here,” Calvin said as he started to ascend. He opened up a hatch and stuck his head through. After a moment, he peeked back down to Naomi and whispered, “Come on.”
Slinging the assault rifle over her shoulder, she grabbed ahold of the cylindrical rungs with her trembling hands and pulled herself up. She thought about one step at a time as she ascended.
Sucking air through her teeth, she peeked her head out, seeing that she was in the back corner of the backyard shed. The open hatch was the same wood as the floor and completely hidden. Calvin crouched near the window. He watched groups of thugs funneling through the house’s back door. Gas masks covered their faces, giving them a distinctly inhuman quality.
After quietly opening the shed window, Calvin slipped out and helped Naomi through. They stuck to the shadows. Meanwhile, a few of the thugs started to move out of the front door, shouting orders behind their gas masks.
Naomi reached the 1983 Land Rover, their only means of escape.
She pulled the door handle.
Locked.
Her heart quickened.
She quickly checked the pockets of her pajamas for the keys.
Empty.
She glanced back at the person-flooded house nearby.
A pit formed in her stomach.
The idea of going back inside was as appealing as eating glass.
Calvin slipped past and opened the driver side door.
Naomi didn’t understand for a moment, and then she saw the key in his hand.
She drew in a deep breath. He must’ve grabbed it when he headed downstairs to get the nails and wood boards for Allen.
After slipping into the Land Rover, Naomi and Calvin waited and watched for the perfect moment to make their escape. At a moment when more thugs were pouring into the house instead of out, Calvin turned the key in the ignition.
The engine rumbled, but didn’t start.
A few heads turned back to the Rover.
“Cal...” Naomi said quietly.
“I’m trying,” Calvin said, turning the key again.
The engine sputtered.
Like a pack of alerted hyenas, more heads looked back.
Someone yelled.
A gun was raised.
“Calvin!” Naomi shouted.
He twisted the key a third time.
The engine roared to life.
A handful of the thugs started toward them, shouting, “Hey! Hey! Stop!”
Calvin put the vehicle into Drive and stomped the accelerator.
The rugged wheels of the eight-seater SUV spun in the cold dirt.
The vehicle lurched forward.
“Stop!” The gas-mask wearing crowd sprinted after them.
“Go!” Naomi screamed in her husband’s ear.
He whipped the steering wheel to the side, sending the whole cabby rocking to one side. He ran down a bush as he got onto the dirt road.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Bullets hit the back of the Rover. The spare tire in the back popped. The back window shattered as a bullet zipped through the vehicle and raced out and hit the front windshield.
The Rover zigzagged down the winding road. Dense foliage lined either side of their trek. Branches bent overhead.
Unblinking and pale as a ghost, Calvin kept his eyes forward the whole trip down the dirt path. Eventually, they were spit out onto an asphalt road. Tire tracks smeared the road as Calvin sped away from the house and the last month of their lives.
After driving for ten minutes, he parked on the curbside. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his hand down his face and turned to Naomi with a dreadful expression. “Now what?”
Naomi tried to think about the next step, but her emotions breached the dam of her mind. Tears streamed down her hardened face.
Calvin leaned back and shut his eyes.
Over the rumble of the engine, the wind howled.
Naomi sniffled. “My parents live an hour away.”
After a long moment, Calvin sat up. He put on his glasses and started to drive down the road.
Naomi thought she’d give him directions, but every thought was cloudy.
Thankfully, her logical-minded husband remembered the way. Naomi rested her head against the cracked window. Snow-laden farms and old houses blurred by.
An hour later, they arrived at the farmhouse. It was single story, simple but homely, perfect for elderly farm owners. Rolling fields sprawled around the sides and back of the house. There was a barnyard, along with cows, a chicken coop, and a special fenced-in area for the horses.
It appeared everything was asleep by the time Naomi arrived. They parked behind the minivan. Inches of snow blanketed its top.
Without a word, Calvin grabbed his pistol and swung his legs out of the vehicle. He slipped out and, with heavy eyelids, looked around.
Naomi sluggishly exited and joined her husband. They dragged their feet to the front door. No light shone through the windows. The house looked empty. Naomi wondered if her parents were still around. She could’ve visited them earlier, but all the conflict with the Ryans and Allen prevented her from making the trip.
With Allen’s gun slung over her shoulder, Naomi waited for Calvin to knock on the door. If her parents weren’t here, she wouldn’t have anywhere to go.
After a long few moments, Calvin knocked again. This time he hammered his fist, not letting up.
Naomi knelt down to the small rectangular garden resting below the window. She overturned a few large rocks, finding a few keys underneath one of them. She was glad that some things remained the same from her childhood.
She slipped the key into the lock and gave it a satisfying twist.
The lock clicked.
Giving a blank look to her husband, she turned the knob.
The door opened.
Naomi stared down the barrel of a shotgun.
6
Homestead
The olive-skinned man was medium height, medium build, and had a round face. His hazel eyes were wide and the shotgun fit his hands like a glove. He stood about five feet back from the door, ready to shoot Naomi.
Calvin kept his hands partly raised.
Naomi’s thumb lingered under the strap of Allen’s assault rifle. The soft whisper of the wind brushed her loose blonde hair across her cheek.
Aftermath (Book 2): Aftermath Page 5
