“I’m telling you I’m gonna kill him!” Kale screamed. Panic was setting in. Harold was getting to him. But Kale might be desperate enough to kill Thomas if pushed too far.
“How about this?” Harold asked. “You’re mighty brave with my son. How about I give you a shot at me instead? Let him go. Then we count to three and we draw. I bet you’d feel better about planting a slug in me than in one of my sons?”
Kale laughed. “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?”
Harold decided to gamble. He lowered his shooting arm.
“Dad!” Thomas cried out.
“Well, if you’re serious about this!” Kale then shoved Thomas to the ground. “Then let’s do it!”
“Alright.” Harold took a step forward. “One…two…three!”
Harold raised his gun swiftly. But as soon as he hit “three,” Kale spun around and fled into the trees. Worse yet, he was running toward Matt’s position. Harold had guessed this guy might be a dirty coward, but he didn’t think he’d bug out when given the chance. However, he was now heading for his other son!
“Matt! Get out of there!” Harold cried as he rushed into the trees to head off Kale. He couldn’t see anything of Kale. Had he run off and quit the fight altogether?
Then three loud pops cut through the air. However, they had not come from directly ahead. Someone had shot from off to Harold’s right. Harold realized if Thomas had gotten up from the ground and pursued Kale, he could have fired from that direction.
As Harold pushed a wet tree branch out of his face, he emerged into a small clearing amid the trees. At the same time, Matt tumbled into a wet puddle. Kale’s arm was raised. He just had clocked Matt in the back of the head with his gun.
Harold swung his gun, ready to end this monster once and for all.
A shot rang out, but it wasn’t Harold’s.
Kale jolted in place. He dropped his firearm before tumbling to his knees. Finally, he slammed face down onto the ground and did not move again.
Thomas hurried from in-between two oak trees, his gun in hand. He was panting. He obviously had tried to take out Kale but couldn’t before Kale reached Matt.
Matt! Harold knelt down. His boy had fallen onto his side, unconscious. He still was breathing. Harold listened carefully. There was nothing erratic about his breathing, but that did not mean Matt was out of danger. A blow like that could have caused any kind of trauma to his head.
Thomas quickly ran to meet his brother. “Don’t touch him!” Harold quickly said. “He took a hit to the neck. That means he could have suffered anything from a neck to a spinal injury.”
“But what do we do? We have to move him!” Thomas cried.
“Go get the Farrells and have them bring him to camp,” Harold said. “They’ll know how to handle him.”
“What about you, Dad?” Thomas asked.
Harold stood up straight. He still had not seen a trace of Carl since he had set off the explosion. Harold might encounter him if he ran back to Ben’s house, but he had the feeling that something bad might have happened. Besides, he was in the mood to take out the rest of the gang by himself.
“Hurry!” Harold turned his back on Thomas and Matt.
Thomas obeyed his dad and ran off. Harold trembled with anger. This had gone too far. He never should have allowed his boys to join this rescue effort. They were strong, capable, but dammit, they were just boys! Now one of his children might have suffered a crippling injury.
Footsteps approached, sloshing through puddles and wet grass. Alicia and Lorenzo were coming. That was all Harold needed to hear to run back to the house and finish this fight.
Michael slammed against the door again with the same result. “Damn!” Frustration got the better of him and he slammed the wooden surface with his palm over and over.
“Michael!” Tara grabbed Michael’s arm and held him back. “Stop it! It’s blocked off. You can’t move it by yourself!”
Michael coughed several times. He clutched his chest to stabilize himself. It was hard. He was weaker than he thought. “Little guy’s tougher than he looks,” he muttered. He turned to the redhead beside him and said, “Didn’t expect Preston to tackle me so hard.”
Michael’s companion rolled her eyes. “No kidding. He’s been full of surprises.”
“But he could be dead if we don’t get out of here.” Michael slammed the door one last time, to no avail.
Behind Tara, a small African-American girl was looking up at the ceiling, eyes wide, and her body shaking. She was wadded up along the wall with only an inch or two of space between her and Tara. The three of them had been stuffed in this small closet for the past few minutes. Tara had shifted toward the right wall, so Michael had enough space to smack the door. But their worst fears were confirmed. Something was blocking the door on the other side.
The little girl, Shyanne, piped up. “I don’t like it here.”
Tara turned around to look at her. The closet was so tight Tara couldn’t stand or sit comfortably next to her. “Don’t worry, Baby, we’re not giving up until we get out of here.”
Shyanne gripped both of her shoulders. “But it’s so…so small. I want to go. I want to go!”
“My God. Are you claustrophobic?” Tara asked.
“I don’t know. I just don’t like it in here!” the girl replied.
Michael turned and looked at Tara and Shyanne. “Tara, she probably feels trapped in here. She may not be used to very tight places.” He pressed his hand against the door. “Hell, I’m not exactly crazy about being in here myself.”
“Michael, are you going to be okay?” Tara asked.
Michael nodded. “Yeah.”
“Because….” Tara began.
“I know.” Michael didn’t need to recount the past ordeals that plagued him. He and Tara were just two ordinary Virginians riding on a road in a city not far from this house. After the EMP lashed the skies, they were forced to abandon their vehicle and trek through the city. Fortunately, they were on their way to go hunting and were carrying guns and ammo with them. But anarchy soon took hold. Tara and Michael were caught in a running battle all the way to a strip mall where survivors had gathered.
It seemed as though they had found a haven. Michael rubbed the side of his head where his wound was healing. Michael had deep scars from the events immediately following being wounded and knocked unconscious during the battle in the auto parts store, and then his journey back to Tara after the two had been separated in the battle. But the ordeal had so traumatized Michael that at time he had lapsed into flashbacks where he thought he was back in the city shooting at the anarchists. It only was after Carl had helped bring Michael back to reality that he emerged from his shell, and even now he wasn’t sure if he would lapse again into an illusion of gunfire and fury.
So far, though, this closet had not triggered anything. Actually, he felt pretty calm. On the other hand, Shyanne was unnerved by being in this cramped space. He didn’t know the girl very well, but Tara had mentioned she was brave and resourceful. But she still was just a kid. No child should be forced into such horrors as this. No adults should either, Michael thought.
Michael replayed the events that resulted in them being thrown into this closet. They had been retreating from the bedroom where Tara and Shyanne had been held captive. They had reached the living room. Then all of a sudden, a man burst out of the smoke at the other end of the hall. He was wearing a mask and carrying a gun.
There was an open closet just behind Tara and Shyanne. Preston slammed himself into Michael’s chest. Michael in turn fell against Tara and Shyanne, and the three of them stumbled into the closet. Just as they fell into this space, a wooden beam fell in front of the doorway. On reflex, Michael closed the door hoping to block any wreckage from striking them.
But as Michael pushed on the door to open it again, something heavy was blocking it. The wreckage must be right up against the door. Even a fully grown adult male couldn’t budge it.
&n
bsp; He coughed. Michael was using a small flashlight he had brought with him to provide light. Shining the beam down to the door crack, he discovered rising smoke. The smoke from the rest of the house was seeping in.
“Damn.” Michael shone the light behind him. “Is there anything we can use to block the bottom of the door?”
“Why?” Shyanne asked, followed by a cough.
“Smoke. We need to stop the smoke or we’ll…” Michael coughed. “…we’ll die.”
Tara looked behind them. This closet wasn’t used for hanging clothes, so there was no closet rod. Shyanne was standing on an old trunk while Tara was pressed against a small pile of tin containers. Fishing lines lay in the corner beside Michael.
Tara felt along the walls. “Maybe there’s a blanket, a jacket, something in here we can use to block the door.” She bumped into Shyanne. “Sorry!” Tara then backed up a step, which was about all she could do in the confined space. “Baby, step off the trunk.”
“What?” she asked.
“I need to see what’s inside,” Tara said, “Hurry.”
Shyanne stepped off the trunk, but that took her right into a corner. “Stay there.” Tara opened the trunk and fished out a few jackets.
“Perfect.” Michael grabbed an old, moth-eaten green jacket and fed it against the door crack.
“Miss Tara!” Shyanne cried, “Let me out of here!” The girl still was pressed against the corner.
Tara slammed the trunk shut. “Back up, Baby.”
Shyanne quaked as she backed up. “We’re going to die in here!”
“No, we’re not.” Tara hugged Shyanne from behind. “We’re going to find a way out, somehow.”
“But we can’t open the door!” Shyanne cried. “We can’t! We can’t! We can’t!” Tara quickly released Shyanne while slipping off her jacket. “Baby, close your eyes! Close them!”
“I don’t want to! Somebody help us!” Shyanne then thrashed around, slapping Tara in the face. Tara ignored the hit and finished removing her jacket.
“Don’t look around! Here!” Tara fished her jacket over Shyanne’s face, though she kept it loose so it did not bind her nose and mouth. “See? No closet! No closet! Just relax.”
Shyanne cried for a bit, but then she started to quiet down as Tara soothed her. “See. There’s no closet here. Just use your imagination. It’s not tight at all, is it?”
The girl answered with a whimpered “Unh huh.”
As Tara consoled Shyanne, Michael turned his attention back to the door. “Maybe Carl’s out there. We should just shout for help.” He banged on the door. “Carl! Carl, can you hear us?”
He tried several more times, but no one answered. Meanwhile, Shyanne finally had quieted down. Tara rubbed the top of Shyanne’s head through the jacket. “Just don’t think about it, Baby. Just sit there and just imagine a better place.” Tara then coughed a little. “I wish we could. It’s still unbearably hot in this closet.”
Michael leaned his head against the door. “Even with the smoke blocked, this place is on fire and sooner or later we’re going to be cooked.”
“Maybe…” Shyanne turned into Tara’s chest. “Maybe we can dig a big tunnel?”
Tara chuckled. “I wish we could, but I think this floor is dig-proof.”
“Then can we dig up?” Shyanne asked.
Tara looked up at the ceiling. “Sweetie, I think we would need some strong tools to break out of here.”
Michael was about to shout for Carl again, but then he stopped and shone the light above them. The ceiling was made of wooden boards and not very well-maintained ones. They were frayed with age, and some of the boards were split down the middle. If they were weak enough…
“Tara, how about we work on that?” Michael waved the flashlight above their heads.
Chapter Three
Carl rolled across the floor. Keeping low was his only chance to evade Ben’s gunshots. After retreating to the back side of the living room, Carl dove for the floor again. He wasn’t entirely sure he had dodged all of Ben’s bullets, as his back stung quite fiercely. A piece of shrapnel could have struck his flesh. He hoped he merely had hit it upon striking the floor.
“Carl? Carl?” Ben called out sing-songy. “You’re going to die sooner or later. It’s just a question of whether the smoke gets you, or the fire, or my gun. Personally, I really do want my gun to waste you. It’s not going to be any fun for you to cough yourself to death.”
Carl quickly covered his mouth. The smoke was irritating his lungs something fierce. At least diving for the floor kept him below the rising smoke. Preston, now laid out on the ground, was similarly less exposed to the deadly fumes, but his unconsciousness suggested he was in bad shape. He might not survive here for as long as Carl would.
Unfortunately, Carl could not spend the time to think of another plan. He just had one goal—take down Ben and get Preston and his friends out of here.
Ben approached. Carl remained quiet. Ben likely could not see him through the smoke. Carl waited until a pair of khaki pant legs approached.
Now!
Carl grabbed the legs and thrust Ben to the floor. Ben cursed inside his mask. He still clutched his firearm and shot off a few rounds, but with Carl holding on to him, Ben could not aim the gun properly and ended up wasting those shots.
Finally, Carl made what he thought was a game changing move. He slammed Ben onto his side, which loosened the madman’s grip on his gun. Carl successfully ripped the gun loose and tossed it away.
However, it turned out Ben had given in on purpose. As Carl turned back to his foe after tossing away the weapon, he suddenly was met with Ben’s fist in his face.
The force knocked Carl off of Ben and additionally made him dizzy. This wasn’t good. Carl used a nearby sofa for leverage to climb back up, but it was harder to gather his wits.
Ben was up faster than he was. “You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” Then he raised his fist. “But so am I. You see, it’s also fun to beat the crap out of you. Big, strong Marine gets his ass kicked by a nobody. I actually like that idea.” Ben then slammed his boot into Carl’s chest. Carl let out a groan as he doubled over against the sofa. The smoke also made it hard to catch his breath.
“Like that, soldier? C’mon, where’s all the taxpayer-funded training?” Ben then kicked Carl again. Carl let out a wheeze as he clutched the sofa. “We pay you boys a lot, but you can’t take down an ordinary man like me? What a joke!”
Carl fought to catch his breath. “Well, our taxpayer dollars were good enough…” He stood on his feet. “…to kill a bunch of your little asshole friends.”
“What? You think I care about those dipshits? It’s every man for himself. What matters is that I come out on top!”
Ben raised a fist, but before he could deliver another blow, he suddenly turned and fled into the smoke.
What the hell? Why’d he stop?
A shot rang out past Carl. Turning to the front door, Carl discovered backup had arrived. Harold was in the doorway, his gun in hand.
Carl wanted to laugh with relief and joy, but he had no time. Preston was free of Ben’s hold, but he was gulping poisonous smoke into his lungs. “Harold!” Carl cried, “Get in here and help me get Preston out of here!”
Harold flung the door all the way open and dashed into the smoky living room. Scooping up Preston, he asked, “Tara! Shyanne! Where’s everyone?”
“I don’t know,” Carl replied with a cough. “I only found Preston.”
“Dad!” Thomas’s voice cried out from the doorway.
“Thomas!” Harold ran up to him. “What are you doing here? Matt—”
“He’s with the Farrells! He’s safe!” Thomas replied.
Harold nodded. “Good, good. As long as you’re here, help cover Carl.” Then he dashed through the front door with Preston. “We have to find Tara and the others!” Harold ran onto the lawn and deposited Preston’s body onto the grass.
Before Carl could turn to search the
house, Ben abruptly emerged from the smoke and grabbed him by the shirt collar. At the same time, Ben raised his gun, ready to blast his head off.
But Carl ducked and got out of the gun’s line of fire, then kneed Ben in his groin. Ben let out a gasp of pain and fell backward. Carl was free, but his chest was burning. He was inhaling too much smoke. Ben, as lightweight as he was, constantly was receiving fresh oxygen from his tank. It didn’t help that Carl still was battered from previous fights, one with Michael while the man was trapped in a traumatic delusion, and then later when he beat up Nichols. Carl was a Marine, not a superhuman. The odds, sadly, were against him.
If I could just get that mask off him…
He had no chance to make a move, for Ben dove right for Carl. Ben put Carl in a headlock and thrust him against the wall. Carl coughed again. He barely could push back against Ben. He worried that he was now losing his last reserves of stamina.
“Forget that little pencil-necked geek!” Ben said, his voice now harsher. “I just want you dead!”
But then a loud bang went off just behind Ben’s head. Ben suddenly released Carl and ducked and covered. Even through the smoke, Carl still could spot a bullet hole in the wall. Thomas had squeezed off a shot. The smoke, unfortunately, may have made it too hard for the boy to accurately aim at Ben, but it was enough to rattle Ben to get him off Carl.
Carl took the chance to flee from the wall back into the center of the room. He was almost spent, but he wondered if Ben was almost at his limit as well. The man wasn’t a trained soldier and had been fighting for quite a while. While Ben still could breathe in here, he still could tire out from physical exertion.
Carl’s hopes soon were dashed. A fresh round of gunfire erupted from the smoke. Thomas yelped and fell down to the floor. Carl’s heart raced. Did Thomas get hit?
Just then, something struck Carl’s right thigh. One of Ben’s bullets had grazed his leg. The sudden burst of pain sent him down to the floor.
Silent Interruption (Book 4): Of Tragedy and Triumph Page 2
