Chapter Twenty
Bradley screamed around the next block and set his sights on home. He hadn’t even thought about dropping Chris or Kirk off. He’d grown silent as soon as he’d lost the call with Monica. Fifteen minutes later, the EBS had begun broadcasting the news that martial law was now in effect in Chicago. The words coming out of the speakers had been chilling.
Bradley remembered all too well what that looked like in Afghanistan.
If these bastards were still at his house, he might have to use some lethal force. Threats against him were one thing, against his family, he’d fight until his last breath.
He came to a halt at a stop light and was about to go through it when Chris reached over and grabbed his arm.
“I don’t know what’s going down at your place, but you’ve been good to me. What you did yesterday at your workplace, you had to do. Sometimes we don’t have a choice and have to resort to violence. You saved your own life and maybe the lives of many others,” Chris said.
“I didn’t want to do it,” Bradley said.
“Like I said, I get it. Now, when we arrive, keep your cool. I’m going to quietly get out of the car and move to their right flank. I notice you have some shrubs over there. This will give me line of sight. Keep your distance from them. If it comes to blows, I suggest you show that gun. If they don’t stop, fire it in the air. You feel like your life is threaten, well, you know what to do.
“Okay,” Bradley said. “What if they brought guns?”
“Then we take care of it like men,” Chris said coldly. “One more thing. If you have to shoot one of them, I got your back. We don’t want this escalated any further than it already has. But if it comes to shooting, remember the words on the radio. These guys can be played off like they’re looters. Keep that in mind. We have two witnesses in the car,” Chris said.
“Don’t do this, Dad. Just wait for them to leave,” Junior urged.
“I want to go home. I can get out here and walk. Thanks for the ride, Mr. Adams,” Kirk said.
Before Bradley could say a word, the kid slipped out of the Bronco and broke into a run along Main St.
“Dad. Don’t. Please,” Junior said with genuine fear in his voice.
“You stay down. Don’t show your face, and lock the doors when we get out,” Bradley ordered.
Junior let out a little cry of horror and ducked down.
“It’ll be fine, kid. I’ve been in situations like this before. I won’t let anything happen to your father,” Chris offered.
“Appreciate the assist,” Bradley said and punched the gas.
The Bronco surged ahead and covered the block in seconds. He slammed on the brakes and was out of the door as soon as he killed the ignition.
The four waited for him. Three men and a woman. Just as Monica had said, one of the guys carried a baseball bat. An older man stood in front of the other three. He had a long white beard that looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in years. He wore a brown leather bomber jacket that was so bulky it could have concealed several weapons.
The man behind him and to the right carried the baseball bat. The other man looked almost like his twin. He had on a ball cap and was clean shaven. The last of the four was a woman who was petite but round, and she wore a frumpy dress that would have been tossed in the trash after landing in a Goodwill donation bin.
“Get off my property right this damn minute,” Bradley yelled.
“That you, Mr. Killer?”
“I’m not going to discuss it. You have five seconds to clear off my property,” Bradley ordered.
“Are you Bradley Adams?” the man with the bat demanded.
Chris had quietly exited the vehicle and moved along the side of the yard, but he closed to within twenty-five feet of the four and, just as he had promised, provided flanking for Bradley. The guy with the bat kept a nervous eye on Chris.
“You son of a bitch. You killed my son,” the older man said.
“He killed a lot of people, and he was going to kill me. I did what I had to do, and if you ask me, I’m not one damn bit sorry,” Bradley defended himself.
“He didn’t do that. Just like the thing in Chicago. It’s all fake. You’re probably the killer,” the old man spat. “Oh, I heard about you all right. Mr. Conservative. Ed used to talk about you and your ilk.”
“Ed was my husband, and you’re going to pay,” the woman said.
What did she think he was, some kind of Bond villain? Who said ‘You’re going to pay?’
She pushed the man with the bat. He looked at her, then his pop, then at Bradley. He must have made up his mind because he moved toward Bradley with the bat slung low in one hand.
Bradley reached and pulled in one smooth motion. The Kimber was in his hand and pointed at the man with the bat.
The old man did something stupid. He reached into his own jacket and grabbed a revolver.
Bradley didn’t want to shoot anyone. But now he had a gun pointed at him. Again. He could just pull the trigger and this would all be over unless the other members of the Reels’ household were also packing.
On his peripheral vision, Chris pulled out a small hand gun, and aimed it at the bearded man.
The guy with the bat stopped in his tracks, and his face suddenly changed. He’d been mad before. Now that look had disappeared to be replaced with concern. His eyes went wide as he realized he had a very large gun pointed at him.
“Put that down. I’m not going to say it again,” Chris ordered from the side of the yard.
The old man turned and pointed the gun at Chris, and that was a big mistake. Chris’s gun barked, and the old man’s head snapped back. The round had taken him right in the forehead. He didn’t look surprised. He just dropped to the ground in a heap.
The man with the bat screamed and raised it over his head. He leaped over his father. He didn’t even have his feet on the ground when Bradley put one in his chest. The guy fell next to his father and gasped before the noise turned into a cry of pain.
“Take them and get the fuck out of here, or I’ll shoot you and the woman. You got that?” Chris said as he closed the distance.
The woman dropped to knees. She screamed and pressed her hands on her brother’s chest. The other brother appeared to be frozen in panic.
The brother Bradley had shot groaned and gasped for breath.
“Better get him to a hospital. That’s a sucking chest wound. Means his lung is collapsing,” Chris said, still keeping his little Beretta Nano trained on them.
Bradley’s mind reeled. He’d shot another man. Not just another man, but the brother of the guy he had shot and killed yesterday. He wanted to render assistance, but the other brother would probably try to take his head off if he got his hands on that bat.
Chris kept his body angled so he presented less of a target. He put the gun next to the brother’s head and reached down and felt inside the man’s jacket. Then he came up with a gun and slid it into his own waist band.
A shape appeared in the darkness from the Southern corner of Bradley’s yard. Someone moving fast and carrying a long gun. Chris spun to assess the new threat.
“Wait, Chris. That’s my neighbor. He’s okay,” Bradley yelled.
That’s all he needed. One of his only friends gunned down over a mistaken identity.
“Whoa. Yeah, I’m Andy from next door. What on God’s green earth happened? I heard yelling earlier after I woke up from my nap,” Andy said. “Then I heard shooting. I grabbed my Remington and came out to see what was happening.”
“These fuckers tried to kill Bradley. We sorted them out,” Chris said.
“They what?” Andy shifted from foot to foot. “My god. Is that Russ Reels?”
“He drew on Chris. Chris had no choice,” Bradley offered.
“Russ was an asshole, but I’m not sure he deserved to be a dead asshole,” Andy said.
“You know him?” Bradley asked.
“Knew. Yep. Used to see him down at the VFW.”
Bradley wished Andy would have left his shotgun in the house. All of the weapons in the open were making him very nervous. All he needed now was for Chris to shoot another person. How was he going to ever explain all of this to the cops? But they hadn’t shown up when Monica reported armed assailants at their home.
He also felt stupid for not contacting Andy. He might have been able to help deescalate the situation with Russ Reels family, or at the very least, helped protect Monica and little Jenny.
“Put your fucking hands under the old man’s arms. You got a car here?” Chris said as he continued to feel around the man’s pants. He came up with a wallet and thumbed it open.
“Right there,” the man said and pointed at a light blue, old Pontiac across the street.
“Drag him over there. Put him in the car. Then you take your brother and get him to a hospital. You do anything stupid and the next fucking bullet is going to be between your eyes. Then I’ll put one in her just for good measure,” Chris said.
“Okay, okay. We’re going.”
Chris thumbed up an ID card from the man’s wallet and glanced at it.
“Stephen Reels on Coventry drive. That right? I’ll just hang onto this for you.”
“Please, don’t do anything. I just came because Ed was family, but he was crazy. You didn’t have to kill my father.” Stephen sobbed.
Chris tucked the ID card in his pocket, and then tossed the wallet so it landed on the wounded brother’s chest.
“Do what he says,” Bradley said.
Bradley had been prepared for the worst but this somehow seemed like it couldn’t have gone any farther south. One man dead, one man shot, and two potential enemies that might come gunning for him. There was nothing else to do right now. Did he sit out here and wait for the police to eventually show up? For all he knew, they had been called to Chicago and would never arrive. His town was small, but it sported a combined police and firefighter station right next to a post office with only two counters.
Andy finally set his Remington on the grass and went to help the remaining Reels family. They moved the brother first, who groaned when he was lifted off the ground. They put him in the front seat of the Pontiac and lowered the seat so he was prone. Then they dragged his father, Russ and put him in the backseat.
Sondra got into the driver’s seat after her brother Stephen slid inside so he could hold his hand over his brother’s chest wound. She started the car, then turned and met Bradley’s eyes. She tried to burn him to a cinder with pure hatred. When that didn’t work, she shot him her middle finger, and then, with a screech of tires, the car sped off.
“Oh, my goodness, what happened?” Monica asked in horror.
She stood in the doorway behind the security screen door, with her hands pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were wide and behind her, to Bradley’s shock, was little Jenny.
“Get her back,” Bradley called to his wife.
Monica pushed Jenny back and disappeared for a minute.
Chris holstered his gun, his eyes never leaving the car until it made a turn at an intersection.
The shakes kicked in and Bradley walked to the edge of the sidewalk and threw up stomach acid.
“I’ll grab that beer so you two can tell me a story,” Andy said, picked up his Remington, and made for his house.
Junior got out of the car and ran for his dad. He wrapped his arms around him and wept silently.
Bradley felt no shame for his son.
* * *
They retired to the basement. Junior stayed with Jenny, promising to keep her entertained. He probably wanted to know what the adults were discussing but he also bore a haunted look. He had seen too much today. The massacre in the city, and now this.
Monica stood near the entryway and sipped one of the beers Andy had brought over. Budweiser wasn’t Bradley’s favorite but it was cold and bubbly. He hadn’t eaten in hours, and his stomach rumbled, but the thought of food wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate right now. If he ate a sandwich, it would probably be wasted when he had to rush to the toilet to throw up again.
Bradley had given Monica a short play by play while Chris sat in an old recliner and listened. Then he told Andy a brief play by play regarding the workplace shooting.
“I heard about that but didn’t realize it was you,” Andy said, sitting forward in an old wooden chair that Bradley had made in high school wood shop.
“Would have been all that people were talking about. Then we had a bunch of cities come under attack,” Bradley said. “Not that I want the attention. I just did what I had to do.”
“Those are false flags. I read about them on the burning times website,” Andy said.
“I don’t know where they got their information, but I’m telling you point blank, I was just in Chicago, and it was very real,” Bradley said. “People are very scared. Don’t believe everything you read.”
“It was paid actors. They had some photos showing some of them moving before the sheets were put over them. Just a bunch of local talent brought in to create a cover story. The president, God love him, is only concerned with power, pure and simple. This is how he’s going to take control. His numbers are in the dumpster and he’s going to be voted out. I’d like to say it’s a dick move, but maybe this is really what the country needs.”
“You’re an idiot,” a voice said from upstairs.
“That you, Junior?”
Brad Jr. Came down the stairs slowly. He had changed into some clean clothes. A black T-shirt with some band logo, of a group Bradley had never heard of, and a pair of jeans that only had a few holes. Bradley wasn’t sure if the pants had come like that or Junior had created the rips. His mop of hair was a ragged mass that hung around his face. He pushed it out of his eyes and stood at the bottom of the landing, eyes fixed on Andy.
“I’m an idiot?” Andy said and turned to look at Bradley for support.
“I was there,” Junior said.
“You don’t have to talk about it right now. Why don’t you go back upstairs and try to get some sleep.”
“No, Dad. I was there. I saw it, worse, I smelled it. I’ll never forget that reek. I’ll never forget all of those people falling with bullet holes in their bodies. Screaming in pain. Begging for help. No one helped. Those guys kept on shooting. They even stopped to finish off some of the injured before the cowards turned and ran away.”
“Junior,” Bradley warned in a stern but low voice.
He didn’t know what else to say. His son had seen something he wished he could have protected Junior from. But his boy had run off, and he would have to deal with those consequences.
“But you guys can’t talk about this like it was a movie. It was real,” Brad Junior said. “Like I said, the smell was the worst. There was so much smoke from the guns. They were loud, and Kirk and I thought we were going to be killed. We were across the street, near a McDonalds. We took shelter inside. Everyone freaked. Some ran out of the store. Some hid under tables. When they stopped shooting, we looked out there and we saw a stampede. People were crushed to death under so many people. The blood. It was everywhere,” Junior said.
“And I suppose you got a look at the so-called shooters?” Andy asked.
“No. They were already gone,” Junior said.
“See. That’s how it works. A big show. Lots of fake gunfire. It creates a panic. Everything you saw was fake,” Andy said with genuine conviction.
“It’s not. I’m telling you. You can’t make this up,” Junior said and came short of stomping his foot.
“Brad, please get some sleep. I believe you, okay?” Bradley said.
“It’s not right to say it didn’t happen the way I saw it,” Junior said. “It’s not right.”
“We heard you,” Bradley said. “Now why don’t you make sure Jenny is okay, and then hit the hay. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
“Fine, but you know it happened. Andy gets his news from websites that feed his fear. I got it straight from the
source. I don’t need websites to show me what real horror looks like,” Junior said. He gave Andy one last unreadable look, and then stomped up the stairs.
“You’ll understand someday, Junior,” Andy called after him.
“Good night,” Junior called back.
“It’s okay, kid’s young,” Andy said.
“Andy, I have trouble believing this wasn’t real,” Bradley said. “So, for now, why don’t we change the subject.”
“Fine by me. How about your partner?” Andy turned to Chris.
“Hard to say what happened since I wasn’t there,” Chris said simply. He pulled his hoodie up and closed his eyes as he sat back in the chair.
“So, what are you planning to do now?” Andy asked.
“I’m going to start fortifying the house. Not just against the Reels. I hope they don’t come back anytime soon. I think we’re about to be in a very bad spot here, and I want to be prepared. Cities under martial law are just the start, and you know it, Andy.”
“I figured as much,” Andy sat back in his chair and drained half of his beer. “I’m stocked up, but not enough to get through more than a month realistically. I never did make a run to Walmart to get more ammo. I’m down to a few boxes of shells for the Remington and my .357.”
“I wish I had more of everything,” Bradley said.
“Well, hell. Let’s just make a run to Walmart right now before it gets too wild,” Andy said.
“Good plan. By tomorrow, the shelves could be bare,” Chris said
“I was going to get cash out in case the banks shut down. I didn’t have time today,” Bradley said.
“Check your account on your phone. It they say they’re having issues right now, you’re screwed,” Chris offered.
“Why do you say that?” Bradley dug out his cell phone.
“Because that’s how it will start. One day it’s an issue. The next day you can’t get at your money,” Chris said.
Bradley was relieved to find he was able to view his balance, as pitiful as it was.
“Andy. Let’s make a list on the way. How’s your pickup running?”
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 13
