Downward Cycle

by JK Franks

  “Time to cross our Rubicon?” Scott said to no one in particular. Once in the water, they had decided to take the boat toward the ocean and slip in, hopefully unnoticed, to the back entrance of the municipal dock. This would give them a virtually undetectable route into downtown and also save several miles of walking with a shitload of weapons. To do this, they would need the engine, though. Bartos turned the key, and the little Volvo inboard purred quietly to life. Columns of thick smoke could be seen coming from the direction of town. The war had already come to Harris Springs.

  The trip to the marina would only take fifteen minutes. Scott took the time to put on a tactical vest and every armament he could attach to his body. He might feel like shit, but he was going to look like Rambo. Bartos had done pretty much the same, but with a little more planning on what he was taking into battle. The real question was, where to find Hansbrough?

  They had heard him talking several times on the radio. The person he was talking with, “T”, was presumably Tyrell; he kept cussing about the cheap-ass radios not working worth a fuck. Apparently, he couldn’t get anyone back at the cottage to respond.

  None of the three in the boat were happy that Tyrell was still alive, though his obvious frustration provided some enjoyment. To Scott, though, he was the bigger threat. Tyrell was streetwise and tough, and would soon find out he had lost a lot more of his team today. It was personal to Tyrell, and he would come after them no matter what happened with Hansbrough.

  Bartos, on the other hand, felt Ronald was the main target. He was a crazy, evil bastard that had to go—first.

  The truth was they had no idea how many people they were up against. While they had hurt Tyrell’s gang, he undoubtedly had more men. Add to that the fact that Hansbrough probably had as many followers now as haters. He kept promising people free shit and making accusations that the council was hoarding supplies just for its friends.

  This was the moment; this was when Harris Springs would cease to exist or find a way to survive. Scott hoped that they would be able to out-think these two idiots and not let it come down to a shoot-out, but it felt inevitable. As he looked at the radios and around the pilot’s cabin of the Sea Ray, he had a thought.

  “If something happens to us, we really should try and get a message out, let someone know we at least tried.” He turned on the marine band radio. “Do you know the frequency Todd normally uses?”

  Bartos nodded, reached over, and spun the dial to change the marine channel. He keyed the mic: “Hometown to Careless Lady, do you copy?” He repeated the query four or five more times before a response came through.

  “This is Careless Lady, Cajun, that you?”

  Bartos’ face lit up, as did the others’, at the sound of their friend’s voice. “Damn glad to hear your voice, man.” Bartos handed the handset to Scott, who relayed a short version of what was going on.

  Todd came back, “Roger that, sounds grim. Could you use a hand?”

  “Well, sure, if you could cut your vacation short,” Scott said smiling broadly.

  “I’m about twenty minutes out, already heading that way. I need to make a call, but I’m coming in with a friend, so be ready.”

  What the fuck did that mean, they all wondered.

  “Roger,” confirmed Scott, and closed the connection.

  Having arrived at the dock, they exited the boat and made their way toward Todd’s dock slip. Solo and Bartos took up point positions to watch the strangely quiet town. Scott looked at Kaylie, “You ready for this, girl?”

  “I’m ready, man.” She reached over, kissed his cheek and hugged him hard. Scott was touched by the show of emotion; they had once been very close, but he had let it slip away after the divorce, like so many other things. Today, she had saved his life, this sweet precious creature he had rocked to sleep as a baby. Now she was outfitted in tactical gear and every bit the badass.

  “Kaylie, your dad would be very proud of you.”

  “I know it,” she grinned and winked at him. She seemed to be growing up right in front of him. “Here he comes!”

  A sleek sailboat running without sails cut into the channel behind them. It was Todd.

  On approach, Todd beamed at his friends as he tossed a line to Scott, who wrapped the dock cleat with it. Stepping out, he hugged Kaylie tightly. Following him, they were all shocked to see DeVonte stepping lightly over the gunnels to the dock. “What up, girl?” he asked with his same disarming smile.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” Kaylie squealed as she grabbed him in a fierce hug.

  “Just hitched a ride. Shit was getting bad down my way, and Captain Todd here just happened to be nearby.”

  Scott laughed and shook the boy’s hand, then hugged him close. “Damn glad to see you, kid. Todd’s kind of everyone’s guardian angel, isn’t he?”

  Todd hugged Scott, causing him to wince in pain. “What happened to you?” he asked.

  Kaylie, still holding onto DeVonte, replied. “Ignore him, he just wants sympathy. He's being a pussy just ‘cause he got shot this morning.”

  Her uncle flipped her the finger as they laughed. Bartos came down the hill and greeted his close friend as well. Solo nodded his head then licked himself, declining to partake in the emotional reunion.

  “Has anyone talked with Jack?” Todd asked after the trio had fully explained the situation.

  “No,” Scott said, “I don’t think anyone has heard from him all day.”

  Todd looked concerned, “We need to find him. Then we need to get eyes on both targets.”

  “I think I have an idea how to do that,” Scott said, “but since he’s here, I could really use DeVonte.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Scott. Whatever you need.” Scott grinned at the bright young man.

  “Please tell me you still know how to speak ghetto.”

  The young man laughed. “Been a minute since I left da bricks but…fo sho,” he said, smiling broadly.

  Todd was worried and took Kaylie to find Jack—and see if he could help. They were to also try and find as many of the other volunteers as possible and help keep them safe but also be ready to move. Meanwhile, Scott clued Bartos in on his still-developing plan. Since no one other than Bartos and Scott knew where all the supplies had been stashed, they assumed Hansbrough and Tyrell’s guys were not having much success in finding them. They had bypassed stockpiling in the normal locations, assuming anyone might try and steal them eventually. Scott now wanted to use this as a lure to bring all of them all in. Bartos suggested a relatively hidden county building just outside of town near the water pumping station. It would not be on the list of likely storage locations, so had probably not yet been checked by the thugs.

  They worked their way over to that side of town as stealthily as possible. As they passed near the sheriff’s office, they saw several dead bodies on the steps. Bartos was hard to keep calm at this discovery, and Scott said little, only trying to keep him calm. He remembered Buck in the car. Further down they were shocked to see the fire station on fire. The beautiful ladder truck that had not moved since the blackout was a charred ruin. Other storefronts were burning, and the fires were spreading. Automatic gunfire was heard somewhere close. They had to take back this town.

  DeVonte had been left back on the boat with specific instructions. When Kaylie got back, they were to make contact with Scott, then wait for the signal. Once Scott's team was in place, he would send a double squelch and DeVonte would then broadcast on the other radio—one of Tyrell’s. He was to say he had found the supplies in the target building. Scott was counting on mutual greed to bring both men running. Hopefully, Tyrell wouldn’t get too nosy about which of his guys was calling in the find.

  Twenty minutes later, DeVonte let them know that Kaylie was back and that Todd and Jack would be in place in ten minutes. Bartos and Solo were on the south side of the old brick building; Scott was inside, where he had struggled to get up in the rafters. He was in position now, looking out a ventilation grill. He watc
hed as Todd, Jack and two other men he recognized as Jack’s former prison friends each took up concealed positions with good firing lanes. Todd identified all friendly positions while Scott sent the two squelch signals. Soon after, he heard DeVonte send the message. It was freaking perfect, just garbled enough and gangsta enough to sound right. He was exuberant, but the radio kept cutting in and out. But the kid made sure that everyone knew what building it was before switching off the handset. Scott heard several urgent messages asking for more info, but DeVonte had gone dark, just like they planned. Now the trap was set, and the group just had to sit tight and see if the pieces of shit took the bait.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  They didn’t wait long. A dark Hummer pulled up on the backside of the building, and two men got out. In the front of the building, they also saw Hansbrough walking down from the town square. All of them were armed. Hansbrough carried what looked to be an automatic weapon. The guys in the Hummer had pistols.

  The friends waited, but they only needed to wait until the players were all together to shut the trap. There was only one entrance to the building, so eventually, the two guys at the back would need to come around to the door. Scott wished he knew if one of them was Tyrell. The three men met at the front of the old building.

  Hansbrough spoke first. “Didn’t ya’ll check this one earlier?”

  “Not yet, Marcus was going to check it out, but he’s still over in the school,” the taller of the two said.

  “Well, who the fuck called in the find?”

  Both guys shrugged, then one added, “Maybe Tyrell knows.”

  Fuck. No Tyrell. Just as the thought occurred to him, Scott saw several other men winding their way through the trees and water pipes on the low side of the building lot. Bartos would be exposed. The Cajun was focused completely on Hansbrough and barely noticed Solo go rigid and then quietly disappear behind him.

  “Overwatch for Cajun, bogey on your nine o’clock.”

  Bartos glanced that way but was too focused on his primary target. Scott had Bartos’ sound suppressed modified SR-15 sniper rifle, but he only had an angle on one of the men coming from that side. He saw Solo going after one of the gunmen, so he lined up, and as Solo leapt on one, he squeezed the trigger sending the 5.56 frangible round at the other. At this range, the deeply satisfying ‘cheee-klunk’ of the relatively quiet rifle was simultaneous with the impact of the round entering the man’s neck; the specialized ammo fragmented on entry and dispersed out multiple exit points. Both men went down immediately.

  Bartos’ target reacted to the sounds of the impact and the dog attacking; his victim making muffled sounds as Solo’s powerful jaws clamped harder on his neck. As he looked in his direction, Bartos fired. The shot should have been a perfect kill shot, but at the last second, Hansbrough moved, taking the round in his shoulder. Todd and the others took that as a signal and opened up, and a dramatic amount of firepower was suddenly unleashed into the courtyard of the county building, where the other members of Tyrell’s gang were.

  Scott dropped the rifle scope on target after target gently squeezing off round after round. He saw one of the men near Jack fall with a massive chest wound. He found the shooter taking cover behind a tree. Like hunting squirrels back in the Ozarks, Scott aimed and clipped the only exposed part of the man. The back of the man’s skull evaporated in a blossom of red.

  Solo had also found his next target. He went directly for the big man, Tyrell, who stood his ground and began frantically firing at the animal. Solo was too fast, even thoughhe had to alter course slightly. Scott still couldn’t get a shot on Tyrell. The angle of the window he was using put that fight just out of sight. He swung the sniper’s rifle back around, looking for new targets. He could see Hansbrough had maneuvered behind a large unused cement pipe, dragging a bloodied arm and wailing for help like a baby. Scott knew the appropriate thing to do was to put the man on trial before a town tribunal, make an example out of him, let him have his dramatic say on how he had only been trying to do good for the community. Unfortunately for Hansbrough, it had already been a long, tiring day. Scott watched as Bartos leveled his rifle and fired the 7.65 NATO round into Ronald’s brain, finally ending his miserable existence. Bartos had little time for satisfaction as he was already swinging the barrel toward his next target. Two of Tyrell’s guys came hurtling out of the brush toward Jack and Todd. Todd was looking and firing in the other direction. With no time to raise a weapon, Jack went into an all-out attack on both men. His speed and training were good, but against multiple armed assailants he should have died instantly. Instead, the move surprised the men and he bent low and went in for close quarters body shots, reaching back, he wrecked one of the man’s arms with a single unbelievably violent jerk then pivoted off of the man with a snapping kick to the throat of the second man. Both were down on the ground and immobile in seconds.

  Todd looked over at the preacher with a small smile seeing the carnage. He then noticed movement ahead heading toward Scott. “Overwatch, you copy?”

  Todd’s voice came over the bluetooth earpiece. “Go for Overwatch,” Scott responded softly.

  “Be advised one of the hostiles just entered your location,” he said. Lowering the sniper rifle, Scott unsnapped the holster on his dad's Sig Sauer and slung the H&K subcompact into his grip. He scanned the darkened interior for the man. There were more shots outside, and he felt that he should be providing cover for his friends. If he got dead, though, he would be of no use to them.

  Scott eased his way through the angle iron trusses as quietly as possible, his aching ribs making each move a pain as he navigated the obstacle course of the dark room. He could barely see. Why hadn’t he taken the time to put the night vision goggles in his bag? Shit. He had brought everything else. He just hadn’t thought he’d need night vision on a bright sunny day. Amateur.

  He had maneuvered to the center of the room, just above the cavernous space of the old water pumping station. Scott scanned the interior again with eyes and ears without detecting anyone. There was too much piping, too many crates and old pieces of machinery to play ‘Where’s Waldo' with any chance of success. This really would be a good place to store supplies, he thought briefly, and wondered why Bartos hadn’t suggested it.

  Then he realized why. The floor of the room was alive. No, not alive, but moving. Shadows shifted in the dim light. Rats. Everywhere. Goddam you, Bartos, Scott muttered under his breath. He hung to a beam and nervously eased himself quietly to the floor, wincing in pain as he did so. He fucking hated the rodents. Apparently, the man hiding in here with him did as well, because all of a sudden, a distinct, “Aghh, fuck!” came echoing from across the cluttered space.

  Trying to zero in on the sound, he noticed a flicker of movement off to his right. Scott swept the H&K in its direction, on full auto. The light of the gunfire revealed the large man waving a pistol at a very large rat, standing on its two rear legs from the top of a crate next to him. The bullets from the sub-compact machine gun destroyed the rat but just missed the man they called Tyrell as he dove away.

  With his eyes’ normal night vision ruined by the gunfire, Scott did not see him coming out of the shadows directly at him. The impact into his already bruised ribs as the massive man barreled into him sent him crashing into a pile of old equipment. The pain was gruesome. Scott’s vision began to fade, and he struggled to stay in the moment. The sound of scattering rodents made it impossible to know exactly where Tyrell was in the dark room.

  Scott’s feet finally found purchase on the dirty floor, and he felt the cursed creatures running over his shoes. He scrambled back just before a shot rang out. The round from the pistol hit just behind Scott, but it had also given away Tyrell’s location. Scott moved backward, then angled toward the man. As Jack had shown him in the KFM training, he maneuvered for the best line then waited for Tyrell to show himself. Scott felt, more than saw, the hammering fist as it came toward him. Stepping into the blow seemed counter-intuitive, but that wa
s the muscle memory taking over from all of the recent training. The blow slid harmlessly off his shoulder, and Scott brought a knee into Tyrell’s groin, driving the wind from his lungs in the process. He heard Tyrell shuffling away into the darkness, but was unsure of the direction. The sounds bounced around the enclosed space and pipes, making it indecipherable.

  Scott knew the difference in size was too much for him to overcome, even with his new fighting skills. This was anything but a fair fight. He would have to use the darkness… even the rats… whatever it took. The sounds of gunfire from outside were diminishing. He briefly thought of his friends and Kaylie but again forced his mind back to the present.

  He was scared. His chest was on fire, and he was not disciplined enough to be a true fighter. A clipped sound rose above the din of still scurrying rodents. He knew the man was within a few feet. Scott again felt the presence before he saw him, then caught a glint of light from the gun in Tyrell’s outstretched arm. Scott did not move to block the gun but instead, rolled underneath it and grabbed the wrist behind it, pulling it back as he swung behind the big man. He now uncoiled one of his powerful cyclist’s legs and shunted it into the side of Tyrell’s knee. He felt something give way as the man staggered, then whipped his arm around bringing his gun across Scott’s temple in a blow that caused him to see stars. Scott stumbled away and again both men were lost in the darkness.

  Think, think Scott, his inner voice was urging him. His mind was cloudy from the pain. Be smart about this. He struggled to think clearly, then realized the obvious. Reaching back, he found the H&K still slung around his neck and pulled it quietly into a low-ready position. Slowly reaching into his pocket, he grabbed two glow sticks. He snapped them and threw them across the room. Moving was excruciating, and the effort nearly made him black out again. He was quite sure he had a broken rib now. The sudden, faint light caused Tyrell to freeze mid-step. The gang leader stood stock-still, a pistol in each hand. The room seemed to be spinning, and Scott courted the darkness that threatened to engulf his consciousness. Through the pain, though, Scott reminded himself: this man is responsible for too much to be allowed to live another day. Worst of all, he had threatened his family and his friends. Stepping out from behind the pile of rusted pipes, on wobbly legs, he opened fire on full auto. The lead kept coming as Scott pumped more and more rounds into Tyrell’s body. What felt like minutes passed in a few seconds, and the dealer was dead before he hit the floor in a heavy cloud of dust and angry rats.