All was quiet until Fish had entered the building and took the stairs up to the second floor. A bedraggled man and a woman emerged from a unit down the hall to investigate Fish’s presence, each armed with large butcher knives, but hastily scurried back inside their unit once they spotted Fish with his M-4 rifle. He didn’t even need to point it at them.
Connie’s door was wide open, it looked like as if it had been busted in. The entire place had been ransacked for all it was worth. There was no sign of her, the baby, or her greasy-ass husband. Elsa’s apartment next door was also vacant and vandalized. Fish half-heartedly looked around both places, sifting through the scattered effects on the floor for some batteries, and found nothing. There likely wasn’t going to be anything of value in any of those abandoned units. He was surprised that the man and the woman he had seen earlier in the hallway were still even living there. How were they surviving?
Fish was disappointed, but quickly left to carry out the rest of the mission. He wondered if the Constantines had both went back to Texas. Connie’s car wasn’t in the parking lot anywhere, that Fish could tell. Traveling with a baby would have been a bitch, though. Especially with everything that was going on in the country.
The next objective was Operation Worts. When Fish was still on base, he had acquired Chief Worts’ address from one of the personnel recall rosters in the drawers of Stephen’s old desk. Apparently Stephen’s replacement had kept everything in the same order that Stephen did. Of course he did! Stephen was a legend around there!
Fish proceeded through Oak Harbor toward the address. There were hardly any vehicles traveling about, it was eerie. There were TSOSs all over town, but quite a few of the homes looked abandoned. Most of the trash bags along the streets were busted open, obviously some desperate souls, both animal and human alike, have had their way with them. Seagulls had taken over most of the roads, they were everywhere, hopping around without fear, happily pecking away at all the rain-flattened garbage strewn about.
Fish saw the actual desperation for himself when he spotted a man and his two boys searching through some newly opened garbage bags along a curb. How sad. All three of them had stopped scavenging and kept an eye on Fish in the Prius as he drove past them. They looked so downtrodden, yet optimistic at the same time, as if he was going to stop the car and throw them something to eat. Fish kept his right hand on the 9mm in his shoulder holster as he drove by, just in case any of them felt a little froggy. None of them appeared to have a weapon of any kind, and seemed harmless enough, so Fish just tossed them a quick, sympathetic wave and carried on.
As Fish got closer to the Worts’ residence, he slowed the Prius as he came across a sedan in the middle of the road. The driver’s side door was open and Fish noticed a set of legs laid out on the wet street underneath the door. Fish deducted that a struggle had ensued, since the open door’s window was bashed out. Why is this guy just sitting there on the cold street? Is this a trap?
Fish surveyed his surroundings, and nothing else led him to believe that he was about to be ambushed, yet the unmoving legs on the wet street worried him. He continued closer, his hand once again on the 9mm. The Prius was narrow enough to easily sneak past the disabled vehicle and all the garbage along the curb, so he rolled down the automatic passenger side window and pointed the 9mm toward whatever was waiting for him on the other side of the door as he slowly rolled forward.
It was just a body. A rain-soaked, bloody corpse of a man in his early twenties slumped against the front quarter panel of the sedan. The thick, gray, hooded jacket he wore was sliced open in several places, and most of it along with the light-colored shirt he wore underneath was completely painted red. The skin on his hands, neck and face was a purplish, ashy color, but at least his eyes were closed. Fish was unable to determine whether the man was the attacker or the defender of the vehicle. The poor bastard was most likely the defender. He certainly did not go down without a fight, though.
Good lord, is everybody just gonna leave him out there like that? What kind of people live around here? Fish thought. Maybe they were afraid of whoever had done that to him. Were they still around? Fish decided to keep a vigilant, constant guard. I’m not going out like that guy. No way, not me! Anyone takes a single step toward this go-cart and they’re gonna take two in the chest. Bottom line.
Fish also decided to keep the driver and passenger side windows open as he continued on, for listening purposes. Plus, he could shoot straight through them without having to worry about Tarra being pissed off at him for breaking the windows. With his long right arm, he could lean and reach all the way across the little car and out the window with the 9mm, if he had to.
*****
Back at the Alexander residence, Stephen and Tarra attentively awaited Fish’s return. Stephen kept checking through the small window in the front door for any sign of him. Tarra joked as Stephen made another check at the window.
“He’s not coming back any quicker, regardless of how many times you look out that window.”
“I know, I’m just worried about him, that’s all.” Stephen replied, scanning the scene outside. Just as he was about to leave the window and return back to the silent living room, he heard a call for help. Stephen leaned in close to the glass in order to get a better angular look up and down Swantown Road, and spotted a woman pushing a baby stroller, approaching from the north.
“Well, what do we have here?” Stephen said, quietly, almost to himself. Tarra had obviously heard the voice outside, and went into the kitchen to lift the blinds.
The woman outside cried out, “Please help! Anybody, please help me! My baby is starving! Help!” She was screaming toward the Rudehouse place, not aware that it was unoccupied.
Tarra went to Stephen, and said, “I think we should give her something.” And reached for the doorknob. Stephen pushed her hand away and slid in front of her with his shoulder.
He said, “No. This smells wrong. What is that woman doing with a baby stroller all the way out here? I’ve never seen her before.”
“Stephen, she has a baby, for god sakes.” Tarra’s heartstrings were being pulled, and she couldn’t control her instinctive, motherly urge to help to a distressed child.
“Does she? You don’t know that for certain.” Stephen said, and removed his shoulder from the door as Tarra backed away. The woman discontinued yelling at the Rudehouse place, and pushed her stroller along Swantown towards the Alexanders’.
“Oh great, here she comes.” Stephen huffed.
The woman, presumably in her very early twenties, possibly even in her late teens, moved to the small concrete path that led to the Alexander’s front door and howled.
“Please, please, help me! My baby is going to starve to death without food! Please!”
Tarra gave Stephen a hard look, and said, “Stephen, we need to help.”
“No, stand fast. Just wait.” Stephen said, not looking at Tarra, and continued to watch through the front door window.
“Stand fast? What the hell? Am I in the navy now?” She half-laughed, half-cursed. Tarra really wanted to grab Stephen by his arm and pull him away from the door to let the woman and her poor starving baby come inside. Stephen was prepared to let them starve, and that wasn’t right. Tarra was almost convinced that something had snapped inside Stephen’s head after the assassination of their neighbor, and he had become cold-hearted overnight.
“I can see you people in the windows, please help me! Please! What’s wrong with you?” The girl screamed.
Suddenly, Pharoah started barking. It wasn’t the happy, “I’m having a good time right now” kind of barking, either. It was an angry, defensive one.
Stephen pulled away from the window, looked at Tarra and said, “See, something ain’t right!” He pointed at the furious dog, but Tarra just sighed with dismay. She wasn’t convinced, and still wanted to help the unfortunate soul.
The girl with the stroller heard the dog barking inside the house, and her face went flat with eit
her frustration, or fear. Stephen wasn’t sure which one. Without saying another word, the young woman turned and pushed the stroller further south along Swantown and away from the Alexanders. Pharoah stopped barking as the woman departed. He walked around in a circle twice and then sat down. Stephen wondered what the two circles meant, and made a mental note to ask Fish about it when he returned.
“Good boy!” Stephen praised the dog, and Pharoah returned the compliment with a single head nod.
Stephen watched from the narrow window in the front door and Tarra watched from blinds fingered apart in the kitchen window. The young lady on the road cautiously looked back over her shoulder before crossing the intersection and pushed east up Loerland Drive toward Eddie Burgess’s driveway. She nervously glanced back at the Alexander place before resuming her wail for help at the foot of Eddie’s driveway.
“C’mon Eddie, don’t fall for it.” Stephen said quietly to himself. Hoping the old war horse would be smart enough to see trouble when it presented itself.
Tarra complained from the kitchen, “I bet old Eddie isn’t afraid of a little girl with a stroller.”
Stephen waved off the comment and watched in horror as Eddie came out of his house and approached the woman standing next to the stroller with a friendly wave. He was going to help her.
“No, Eddie, get back in the house, damnit. You’re smarter than this.” Stephen said to himself again. A second later, as Eddie was halfway down his driveway, the girl pulled a handgun from underneath the jacket she was wearing and shot Eddie multiple times in the chest. He flew onto his back and laid motionless.
“No!” Tarra screamed and ran for the door. Stephen blocked it, and Tarra grabbed his arm to pull him away. That bitch out there just shot Eddie Burgess! One of the nicest men on the planet! She needed to pay for that, and Tarra was volunteering to be the cashier.
Stephen said nothing as he flicked away Tarra’s arm and grabbed her mid-section with both arms and squeezed. It was the only defense he had against his wife, she was a known fighter! Stephen squeezed with all his strength and took Tarra to the floor, kicking and screaming the entire way. He had never squeezed or hurt his wife that bad in all their years together. It made Stephen feel terrible, but it was necessary.
“Let me go, let me go!” Tarra yelled as she resisted Stephen’s clutch, and as she yelled, Pharoah began his furious barking again, this time directly in Tarra’s face, as if she was the one in the wrong, and needed to chill out. The loud barks in her face momentarily stunned Tarra, and she resisted for a few seconds as the sound of a car screaming its way up Swantown caught everyone’s attention. The Kays had come out of their room after the gunshots and Stephen yelled extremely loudly at them to go back to their room.
Stephen and Tarra heard the car screech through the intersection and stop at the Burgess place. Stephen was nearly out of breath from restraining Tarra, but managed to whisper in her ear, “There’s the second half of the ambush.”
“Okay, okay. I’m okay. Let me up.” Tarra said, and Stephen obliged. He was out of steam, anyway.
The Alexanders went back to their watching stations, and witnessed two young men around the same age as the woman emerge from the black Monte Carlo and congratulate their accomplice with a few quick hugs. Tarra watched with disgust, and wanted to kill them all, but Stephen would never allow her to leave the house. What the hell was wrong with those kids? They just killed a wonderful old man in utter cold blood!
Stephen was disgusted as well, but couldn’t risk dying over their neighbor, who was already dead. If there was something he could do, he would have. Eddie could not have survived such gunshots to the chest, it was impossible. The Alexanders viewed the activities across the corner with extreme hatred.
Eddie Burgess was also watching. He wasn’t dead yet! One of the .22 caliber rounds had pushed its way into his right ribcage and the other one was deep into his right shoulder. The rest had missed. Even at such a close range, the girl was a horrible shot. Typical woman, the old-timer thought, can’t shoot for shit! I should be dead right now! He was in terrible pain, and could feel his warm blood oozing from his wounds. Fluid began to build up in his pierced lung. He needed to act soon if he was to survive. The .38 special he normally carried was still wedged in his shoulder holster, concealed by his denim overcoat. Thank god for that! However, since he had taken a good one to shoulder, Eddie knew that he would need to shoot with his left hand, which sucked, because he was right-handed.
It would have to do.
The three celebrating criminals moved to the vehicle’s open door and folded the seat down as if to get something out of the driver’s side back seat. The Monte Carlo was hastily parked perpendicular to Eddie’s driveway, and all their backs were turned to the old man. Eddie seized the opportunity while they weren’t watching to scuttle himself to the front of his Oldsmobile parked in the driveway.
Without hesitating, he forced himself to stand and leaned on the hood of the Olds, creating a low profile. He took aim at the group of punks, and fired with his off-hand. He had aimed at the bitch with the gun, but the bullet struck the male that was bent over behind the folded seat of the Monte Carlo smack dab in the left butt cheek! Eddie grinned as the whippersnapper’s back pocket of his filthy jeans exploded, and ass-gore plastered the seat, steering wheel and a good portion of the windshield. The .38 was Eddie’s deceased brother’s service pistol, from when he was a deputy for Snohomish County “back in the day”, and it packed one hell of a wallop! The kid had flown forward, howling in agony. He was blasted almost entirely into the back seat of the Monte. Only the bottom of his legs hung out of the car.
The other two invaders flinched from the sound of the gunshot and spun around. Eddie took aim once again at the miserable cunt that had taken advantage of his kindness and fired a second shot, but missed. She ran around to the lee side of the Monte and ducked down behind the rear quarter panel, just in time to be missed by the third shot from Eddie’s gun. The remaining male, the chubbiest one of the three, ran around the car in the other direction, and hid himself low behind the front quarter panel. Eddie wasn’t sure if he was armed or not, but it didn’t appear to be true. Otherwise, he would have been shooting back, right?
I’ve only got three shots left, and there’s two of them, Eddie thought. The rest of his ammo was in the house. The bitch with the gun fired back at him and he managed to get another one off in the crossfire, but missed again, taking out the Monte’s rear windshield before he was forced to slide back down the hood of the Olds to take cover. The stupid whore had started firing at him like it was target practice time and she had infinite ammo. Bullets impacted Eddie’s faithful, beloved car and he cursed.
Unfortunately, Eddie had been running on nothing more than pure adrenaline, and had ran out of gas. He made an attempt to get up, but couldn’t, and remained on his knees with his good elbow and shoulder against the grill of his Oldsmobile. He could barely breathe, and his battered body was shutting down. I still have one bullet left for each of those crooked hooligans! Get up, Eddie, get up and shoot, damnit!
But he wouldn’t need to. Something caught his eye to the right. A large dog was bounding across the ditch in his yard toward the Monte Carlo at blinding speed. His neighbors from across the street were several paces behind the speeding German shepherd, trying to keep up, and they were armed! It was Stephen and Tarra Alexander, god bless their souls!
The girl with the .22 caliber had little more than a fraction of a second after she noticed the four-legged terror barreling toward her to react. She shot at the dog, but didn’t have time to aim, and like most of her other shots, it was errant. Not even close. Pharoah went airborne, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Pure dread overwhelmed the young woman in slow motion as Pharoah connected with her, teeth to neck, and took her down with well-trained working dog precision. She felt his teeth pierce her soft, smooth skin, and had little more than a fleeting moment to reconsider all the miserable things she
had done before her throat was raggedly removed from her body and everything went black.
“Yeah!” Eddie was able to raise his gun hand and let out a triumphant cheer, but it was hideously painful.
“Eddie, stay down!” Stephen yelled as he ran toward the scene. The chubby punk that was hiding behind the front quarter panel of the Monte Carlo took off running up Loerland Drive, terrified and in shock, immediately after the dog had taken down his female counterpart. He was unarmed, just as Eddie had speculated.
Stephen stopped and raised his M-4 to take a shot at the man before he got away, but hesitated. He couldn’t shoot an unarmed man in the back, could he? He looked like he was just a kid. Tarra, who was still pushing forward ahead of him, looked back at her husband and shook her head with distaste. She put her head down and dashed past the Monte Carlo, picking up speed. The fleeing chubster wasn’t much of a runner, especially with his pants half-way down his ass, and most unfortunately for him, Tarra was an excellent sprinter. She caught up to him quickly, raised the shotgun to her shoulder and blasted a giant, crispy hole into his lower back. He went down with a high-pitched, girlish yelp and rolled onto his side.
The thug with the ass wound inside the Monte Carlo attempted to painfully wriggle himself fully into the back seat of the car for cover. He bled profusely, and felt as though he wasn’t able to his legs properly. Black flashes bombarded his vision with each agonizing movement, and passing out was a near option. The old man had done one hell of a number on him, he had taken half his ass off! Maybe he could hide amongst the bags of stuff in the back seat that they had stolen from other ‘customers’ earlier that day? It was the only thing he could think of to do, but he knew his situation was dire, regardless.
THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road Page 17
