Outlaws of the Midwest | Book 2 | Panic Ensues

by Hunt, Jack

  Once inside, he flicked on a flashlight and shone it over the walls. The graffiti read: TRAITOR. It was everywhere, multiple times.

  It was a bloodbath inside, the tiled floor was covered with bloody smears, the walls had red fingerprints.

  “Looks like our contact is dead,” Lucius said.

  No one replied as the others came in through the back and cleared each of the rooms on the lower floor. For all the blood that was splattered, there were no bodies in the house. That’s because they’d been dragged outside.

  “Snow,” Redford, one of the militia guys, said in a hushed tone.

  They followed him out to a dark garden and over to what looked like a firepit.

  The bodies, or what remained of them, had been piled up one on top of the other. Snow bent down and reached into the tangled charred mess and tugged on something, then stood up and showed the others. It was a set of stainless steel dog tags.

  “It’s Palmer. One of Darius’ crew.”

  “Well that’s one more we don’t have to drag out of here,” Lucius said, turning to walk away. As quick as a flash, Snow lunged at him and struck him across the face. He didn’t even see the hook coming. One second he was standing, the next, on his ass, rubbing his cheek. “What the hell, man?”

  “He was a friend of mine. He had a family. Show some respect!”

  “All right. Sorry,” Lucius said, rising to his feet and backing up.

  “You think Darius is among them?” Scarlett asked.

  Snow shrugged, still glaring at Lucius.

  Miles scanned his surroundings. “So they made it here and came under attack. That doesn’t exactly give us much hope.”

  “Hey! Hey, you there!” Barrett said. He darted across the yard. “We got eyes on us,” he bellowed, charging into the woodland. Miles just caught the figure disappearing into the next yard over. All of them took off sprinting after the stranger who was darting in and out of trees trying to escape. They couldn’t afford to have anyone raise the alarm.

  “Where did he go?” one of them said, standing in the next house’s yard and looking around. “He was here just a second ago. I know he never made it to that house.”

  All of them shone flashlights into the darkest areas of foliage. It was Scarlett that spotted the abnormality. Instead of announcing it to the others, she nudged Miles and he turned and looked to where she was pointing. Near a dog house, the earth looked disturbed as if a hole had been dug, and then it had been covered over. Sure enough, as they got close, he could see thin ray of light beneath a piece of plywood. Whoever had created it had done a good job of hiding it with grass but in their hurry to escape some of it had come loose exposing the hideout.

  He gestured for Scarlett to lift the wood by holding up three fingers.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  The wood lifted and a gun fired but as no one was standing directly in the way, no one was harmed. As quick as a flash he grabbed the muzzle of what looked like a Winchester rifle and yanked it out of a young kid’s hands. He couldn’t have been more than nine years of age. A gangly kid. His strength was poor, his build frail.

  “Get out of there,” Lucius said, reaching in and pulling him out.

  “Go easy,” Mile said.

  “Easy? I should give his ass a good whipping.”

  “You want another?” Snow asked. “Let him go!”

  Begrudgingly Lucius released the scared kid. He had ginger hair, tousled, and lots of freckles. His cheeks were covered in lines of camo face paint, and he was wearing army gear that was too big for him. Miles peered into the hole. There wasn’t much to it. A small ladder, wood at the bottom, and a lantern. He’d created an airhole that went up and exited through the dog’s kennel.

  “I didn’t do it. I promise,” the kid said, immediately cowering.

  “That house empty?” Snow asked pointing to the home behind him. The kid gave a nod. They led him into the house and a couple of the guys watched the front and back while they asked questions. “The home behind us, you know the owner, Raj?”

  He nodded.

  “Is he dead?”

  He shook his head. “No. He’s alive.”

  Lucius snorted. “I knew it. See, hero. You put your faith in America, and time and time again they screw you over. I say we kill the kid now.” He jabbed his rifle at the boy. The boy cowered back. One glare from Snow and Lucius backed off.

  “What’s your name, kid?” Miles asked.

  “Eric. Eric Larouche.”

  “Did you see it happen?”

  He nodded. “PLA killed them.”

  “All of them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “This your house?” Miles asked, looking around. It was one of many homes that hadn’t been torn to bits. If there had been better lighting than their flashlights they might have been able to see it better, but all they could see was the silhouette of furniture covered by white sheets as if someone had prepared to shut the place down for the winter.

  “Yes.”

  “And your parents?” he asked.

  “Working in the fields and factory. They didn’t want me to be out there so they created that hole. I stay there until they come home. Sometimes they’re out all night. Sometimes they are out all day. It changes from week to week.”

  “So just you?” Snow asked. “How old are you?”

  “Ten.”

  Snow looked at Miles and shrugged.

  “Kid, do you know where Raj is?”

  Eric nodded. “But he’s bad news. He alerted the collaborators to your friends.”

  “How do you know they’re our friends?” He pointed to Snow’s fatigues.

  “By the way we dress?” Snow asked.

  Eric gave a strained smile.

  “That bastard,” Snow said, clenching his jaw and walking over to a fireplace mantel.

  “You think you can take us to him?” Miles asked.

  “My parents said not to leave here.”

  “How far away is he?”

  “Not far but it’s not safe. There are PLA everywhere. Collaborators and…”

  “And…?”

  “Death dealers.”

  “Death what?” Miles asked.

  It wasn’t the boy but Snow that filled him on that little tidbit. “They’re the mercenaries. Santiago’s men. The ones who run this shit show.”

  18

  Gunnar

  The chances of survival dropped considerably the moment he released his weapon. He knew that more than anyone else. Two things went through his mind when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the left side of his head: his knife, and the odds. That was it. If he didn’t release the gun, his brain matter would be all over the wall but if he surrendered, the odds of survival were almost the same.

  Rumors of roving gangs had spread but with so much attention on the PLA those kinds of stories were kept for campfires at night by those wandering in the wild.

  “Okay, don’t shoot,” he said in a low voice.

  The men ahead still hadn’t heard or even seen them.

  Gunnar slowly turned his rifle, barrel pointing away, and extended out his arms in preparation to drop it. There was a reason why he did that.

  The second it clattered on the floor, his left hand which was still extended whirled as he turned into his attacker, knocking the handgun just far enough away that the bullet that erupted didn’t hit him. In one smooth motion, his right hand withdrew his handgun from his hip as he came around, one arm around the throat, the other hand pressing the barrel into her skull.

  It was a she.

  Her dirty blonde hair smelled foul like she’d rolled around in a swamp for weeks.

  It happened so fast, within a matter of two seconds.

  In an instant the men whirled around, rifles out, yelling for him to drop the weapon but that wasn’t happening. Holding on to the woman with a tight grip he stayed behind her, using her body as a shield as he bellowed.

  �
�Drop your rifles or I will drill a hole in this woman’s skull.”

  The third guy, obviously the alpha of the pack, came lumbering in to see what all the commotion was about. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Sheila.” The man threw a hand up in the air. He was pissed. “You dumb bitch! I told you to wait.”

  “If I had, you would be dead by now.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Gunnar added.

  He began slowly backing up, dragging the woman further into the hotel.

  If there were four, there could be more.

  The two in front of him were gangly individuals, all bones. They almost resembled meth addicts except he knew that might not be the case. A lack of food had caused everyone to drop a few pant sizes, some more than others. The third was muscular, certainly the one who ate the lion’s share of food. Their weathered faces and jerky movements made him feel uneasy. They looked like the kind of nutcases that would open fire on her just to get to him.

  “My name’s Butch Tamlin, what’s your name, stranger?”

  “Gunnar.”

  “Okay, Gunnar.” He lowered his rifle. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You are clearly outnumbered. You might take one of us down but you’ll be dead before you squeeze again. So how about we do a deal?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve got your woman. Let’s do an exchange?”

  “I’m game.”

  “All right. Send over Sheila and I’ll have Ralph go and get yours.”

  Gunnar shook his head. “No. I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

  He pulled Sheila back some more, and she cursed at him, threatening to cut his eyes out. Her continual mouthing off obviously didn’t go over well with Butch as he shouted at her. “Sheila, shut your mouth. You’re not making this any easier.” He paused for a second to catch his breath. “Listen up, mister, I’m trying to be fair here but you are treading on dangerous ground. I’m offering you a way out.”

  “Is that what you call it? How about you shut the fuck up, and go and get Arianna.”

  Butch chuckled. “So that’s her name.” Butch moved to a table and perched his ass on it like he wasn’t in a hurry, or in any way intimidated by Gunnar. The action made Gunnar even more uneasy. His calm demeanor reflected someone who felt like he was holding all the cards. The question was, what was his hand?

  “Maybe I’ll bring her out here in pieces. Would you like that?” he asked then brushed off some debris from his pants. “I don’t think you understand. You see…”

  Before he could spit the words out, Gunnar unloaded a round into the leg of one of his pals and then quickly pulled back the gun to Sheila’s head. His buddy, dropped to the floor, screaming in agony, clutching his leg. Butch bounced off the table, rifle at the ready. Yelling ensued.

  Gunnar stayed behind Sheila, expecting them to retaliate but they didn’t.

  “You’ve done it now. I tried to be reasonable,” Butch said.

  “No, you tried playing games. Get Arianna, or the next bullet goes in this woman.”

  Butch sneered at him, stabbing a stubby finger his way. He was gritting his teeth and looked like he wanted to say something but instead, he slapped his other pal and told him to go and get her.

  “It didn’t have to be this way,” Gunnar said.

  “You shot first,” Butch replied. “I was ready to work with you.”

  “If you were, you wouldn’t have taken her to begin with.”

  “The opportunity presented itself. It’s a dog eat dog world.”

  “That it is.”

  Butch dropped to a knee and unraveled some cord from around his wrist, wound it around Ralph’s leg, and used it as a tourniquet.

  “Why aren’t you running with militia?” Gunnar asked.

  Butch snorted, not even looking at him. “And take orders from dicks like you? For what?”

  “Freedom.”

  Butch looked at him and patted Ralph. “Freedom. America was never free. That was just a big lie perpetuated by the powers that be.”

  “So are you anti-government?”

  “No. I’m pro myself. I’m not falling under anyone’s rule. The government. The Chinese. Militia. No one. Freedom is doing whatever the hell I like, and trust me,” he licked his lips, “I like it.”

  “You better not have touched her.”

  He chuckled, taking a seat beside his friend. “Oh don’t you worry. I’ve not laid a hand on that pretty head, well, I had to cover her mouth but you understand, right? However, I can’t say that I don’t have a few things planned for this evening. If you feel my vibe.” He grabbed his crotch and Gunnar tightened his grip on the gun.

  “Is that what it’s come to?”

  “It’s not what it’s come to, my friend, it’s what has always been, it’s just folks like me wound up in prison. Not anymore. No law. No order. It’s like the Wild West again. Now that’s freedom!” He let out a laugh.

  Gunnar knew this wasn’t going to end well. This guy was two sandwiches short of a picnic. His intentions were clear and given the chance he’d be dead. Gunnar pulled back so he could look down the corridor.

  “Nervous, mister?” He flashed a toothy grin. “You should be.”

  “You been staying here all this time?” Miles asked.

  “No. We roam. We search.” Butch’s eyes flashed. It was clear he was enjoying this. He felt comfortable. That told Gunnar he had done this before. The other guy was taking his time. It was taking too long.

  “Your pal has ten seconds to get his ass back here or I’m sending this woman heaven-bound.”

  “Oh, he’s coming. Don’t worry. He’s coming!” he said in a way that revealed he wouldn’t be returning with Arianna. Now it was only a matter of which way he would try to ambush Gunnar. He had several options. Obviously, he wouldn’t come from the direction he had gone, as he knew Gunnar would be watching, which left the east or any one of the doors behind him.

  To avoid this, Gunnar shifted position, moving across the room.

  Sheila wiggled within his grasp, at first he thought she was trying to escape but that wasn’t it. Her mouth opened and her teeth latched on to his hand. He had no other choice but to strike her on the side of the skull with the butt of his gun. Her body went limp in his arms. By the time he’d caught her, Butch was already halfway between where he had been and where Gunnar was.

  “Don’t!” Gunnar bellowed. “I will do it!”

  Butch froze and then took a few steps back, a knife in hand.

  Out the corner of his eye, he saw his buddy leering around the corner. “Pal, you better have her,” Gunnar responded without taking his eyes off Butch.

  The guy emerged, rifle up.

  “Jackson. Don’t do it.”

  “Let me take the shot, Butch. I’ve got this.”

  “Put it down.”

  “Listen to him, Jackson,” Gunnar said, shifting Sheila again to cover his body as much as he could. He kept his face behind Sheila’s head all the while backing up and putting more room between him and Jackson. Just when Gunnar thought it couldn’t get any worse, he heard Tommy coming to check on him.

  “Gunnar. You there?”

  Butch glanced behind him at the stairwell then back at Gunnar. A smile flickered. He didn’t need to say anything, he knew what was about to happen. That was confirmed as Arianna came into view, held by a woman who looked as equally large as Butch. One more into the mix and they would have him. His eyes bounced between them all. Butch knew he had the upper hand, he backed up, knife at the ready, making his way toward the stairwell.

  “Tommy. Get out of here!” Gunnar shouted.

  As quick as a flash, Butch bolted for the door.

  Multiple things happened all at the same time.

  Gunnar turned his gun on Jackson and unloaded a round as Arianna jerked her head back, slamming it into the woman’s nose. It burst like a fire hydrant. She ducked and Gunnar unloaded two rounds into the woman’s chest.

  By now Butch was
gone.

  The closing door to the stairwell was all he could see.

  Gunnar dropped the limp body of Sheila and fired a round into her without even looking, then made his way over to Ralph who was trying to get up and get away.

  “Please. No. God. No!”

  Boom.

  The gun echoed loudly as Gunnar took him out with a round to the head.

  Darting across the room as Arianna scooped up a rifle, Gunnar pushed the stairwell doorway and was instantly greeted by a flurry of rounds forcing him back.

  A second or two and Gunnar stuck his handgun around the corner and unloaded three rounds using the reflection of Butch’s silhouette in a broken mirror on the floor.

  A moment passed and he saw Butch was gone.

  Moving fast, he entered the stairwell, Arianna watching his six while he kept his back to the wall and his handgun lifted. He made it to the next floor and found Tommy choking on blood.

  Butch had slit his throat.

  “No. No. No.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Arianna!”

  She motioned for him to go while she tried to help. A task that not even an EMT could do, even if they had the right equipment. He saw how deep that gash was and all the blood he’d lost. The kid would be dead in less than a minute.

  There was no time to grieve.

  Butch was making his way to their room. Once inside, he’d barricade himself in and do all manner of things with the two women. Bursting out into the corridor, Gunnar dove for cover as bullets snapped overhead peppering the wall. Butch continued to back up, firing wildly, knowing that as long as he kept Gunnar under constant gunfire, he could reach the room.

  And he did, except he never expected what came next.

  Tommy’s mother and Brooke burst out of the door, charging into him. Both drove knives forward, one into his gut, the other into his neck.

  He managed to get off one more round before he buckled and slid down against the wall.

  The women continued to stab him over and over again as Gunnar rose, standing in the dark corridor.

  He turned back to the stairwell where he saw Arianna looking up at him, her hands gloved in blood, shaking her head.