by Ray Wench
Mark sighted the lead man, wanting the others to see him go down. He hoped they would scamper for cover once more, giving him time to get some distance. It was an easy shot and the man dropped. Just as he planned, the remaining pursuit scattered. He counted a dozen men and added three more for any he couldn’t see. As soon as the men took cover, Mark broke to his left and ran as hard as he could. He crossed the street and turned the corner at the far end of the block.
Ahead of him the street stretched on beyond sight. To the right was a high fence that separated the back of a line of stores from the neighborhood. He could scale it but it would be a long run in the open before he could reach cover. His best bet was the houses to the left.
He stayed on the sidewalk and ran for all he was worth. Allowing himself two minutes of open running, Mark kept track in his head before he sought cover. From then on he would run through yards, hopping fences and trying not to get seen or flanked.
Mark took stock of his weapons. He had the rifle and one more refill of bullets. His 9mm and two extra magazines, the handgun he’d picked up in the room with an unknown amount of rounds, and his knife.
Huh. Fifteen to one. No problem.
Mark ran on. At the end of the block, he cut left. The time he would have in the open was limited. For the moment, he wanted to get some distance to enable him to find a place to hide until his pursuers went past. Then he could double back. Mark ran down residential streets. There were plenty of places to hide. The question was to what extent would the Horde be willing to search for him?
After three blocks, Mark could no longer keep up the pace. His lungs burned. He gasped for air.
He needed to stop and find someplace to hide. Turning up the next street Mark ducked between the fourth and fifth houses on the block. There he slowed his speed. It took great effort to control the loud sucking sound he made trying to draw in air.
Forcing his body to continue running Mark entered the backyard and hopped the rear fence. Exiting on the next block Mark glanced to his left. Seeing the road was still clear he continued across the street and repeated the process for the next few blocks like some bizarre form of steeplechase.
Then everything changed. At the far end of the block, he spotted movement.
He dove to the ground in a backyard and waited for any sign that he'd been noticed. Two men ran down the side street at the far end of the block. He risked a glance, lifting his head high enough to see, but they were now out of sight. As yet, no one appeared to the right, but they would be there soon. It was time to seek shelter.
Staying low, he crawled back toward the house. Maybe if he waited long enough, the pursuit would pass him. Stopping at a small deck he scrambled up the steps to try the door. It was locked. He couldn’t afford to make any noise breaking the glass, so he hurdled the railing. Using the butt of the rifle, he dug a trench deep enough to slide under the deck.
He just started wiggling his way underneath when he heard a voice. “Nothing here.” It had come from his left. He froze. Panic flared ripping the air from his lungs. Then he jerked, knocking his head on the underside of the deck, as another voice replied, “Nothing here either.”
A line of gunmen was methodically clearing the houses yard by yard. Someone with some brains had organized the search.
“I still think we should be checking the houses too,” the man to the left said.
The searcher in front of Mark looked in the direction of the back of the house. “Nah, only if it’s obvious someone has broken in. There are others behind us checking the houses. Our job is to check if he’s in the open and flush him into the ones waiting in front. The cars that went up ahead will trap him between us.”
The two men climbed over the fence and moved through the yards. When they disappeared between the houses of the next block, Mark breathed again. Processing what he'd heard, Mark knew a second wave of searchers would be coming through soon. That they’d sent men ahead to cut him off was good to know, but what he’d anticipated. He hadn't planned on continuing forward. As long as whoever was running the pursuit thought that was his plan he should be able to escape. He just needed to be patient. He slid further under the deck.
Mark snaked his hands back out and tried leveling off the dirt he had dug away. If discovered, he would be trapped. His only hope was to escape without having to shoot his way out.
He placed the rifle on the ground in front of him, pulled out the 9mm and the knife, and settled down to wait. About ten minutes later, the patio door opened and footsteps padded on the wood above him. He hadn’t been prepared for that. He was on his belly, thinking whoever would come would be in front of him. As he thought about it now, it only made sense they would come in from the front of the house, otherwise if he had been hiding inside he could just run out the other way unnoticed. But now, he couldn’t see above him to find out if his life was in jeopardy. Trying to flip over was too risky with the man so close. He was defenseless. The only thing he could do was close his eyes and wait … and pray.
The man stood there for an eternity. Finally, he walked down the steps and into the backyard. There he stopped and waited. Mark couldn’t understand what he was doing until a voice from farther down yelled. “Count off!”
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
They stopped at eight.
“Move right!”
The searcher in front of Mark moved to the right and climbed the fence. He heard the searcher’s partner, two houses to the left, do the same thing, entering the house next door. A chill crept up his spine as he realized how well orchestrated the search was.
They must want me real bad to go through that much trouble.
He had to reassess his idea of what their setup was. If they were going in one house from the front, then one from the back, they must have someone out on the street to prevent him from doubling back. This was likely to take longer than he’d hoped.
Five minutes later, the searchers were back in the yards and the countdown repeated. The voice in charge yelled, “Forward,” and the eight men climbed the rear fence and smashed their way into the houses in front of them.
Mark could do nothing but wait them out. The worst might be behind him. Another fifteen minutes and the command issued to move on. Mark breathed a sigh of relief. It was too soon to crawl back out, but for the first time he felt he had a chance. The first wave had to be two blocks away by then.
He listened as the calls were given, each one fading as they moved farther. They crossed the next street. Maybe he’d been wrong about the follow-up men. They should’ve come into view by then if they were there. Pushing the piled dirt aside, he began crawling out from his hiding place. He pushed the rifle out ahead of him then pulled himself forward. A sound froze him.
Another man walked out from the side of the house, moving toward the fence. His head swiveled back and forth, his rifle hung downward in his left hand.
Mark was half out from under the deck. Afraid to move in either direction for fear of making a sound, he kept the 9mm trained on the man’s back. Mark tensed as the gunman was about to turn around when someone down the line called, “Got something?”
He stopped his turn and replied, “No, just a feeling. Maybe he’s close. Or maybe we’ve been doing this too long.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. Let’s move. We’re falling behind. Don’t want to be blamed if he slips between us.”
“I hear that.”
He went to the fence, leaned an assault rifle up against it and lit a cigarette. This man was quite tall. He lifted a leg and basically stepped over the fence straddling it. As he reached down for his weapon, he jiggled the fence, causing the rifle to slide down to the ground.
“Shit,” he said, reaching back over the fence to retrieve the gun. He raised his head and looked directly at Mark. Mark fired instinctively, hitting the split-rail fence underneath the man. He tried to fall to the other side but his foot caught on the metal wiring.
Mark sli
d out and jumped to his feet. He fired twice more through the fencing, snatched up the rifle, and ran around the house without knowing if he’d hit the man.
Voices shouted behind him relayed the message he'd been found.
“He’s here! Back this way!”
“Stay in your lanes. Flush him forward.”
“Don’t let him turn!”
And just like that, all hope faded.
Twenty-Eight
Mark was across the street and into another backyard before anyone saw him. As he crossed the next street, however, he spotted a Jeep parked facing him on the wrong side of the road. It was down at the end of the block to his right with two men in it. The command vehicle. It gave him an idea.
In the backyard, he ran right and hopped the side fence. Working his way down the street he got behind the Jeep. If he could take them by surprise, he could take the Jeep and make his escape, since everyone else was on foot. If that didn’t work, he would get to the side street where he would attempt to find a car.
Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was a plan.
Reaching the yard of the house just past where the Jeep was parked Mark turned toward the street. The men in the Jeep were the only ones to see where he’d crossed the street. As soon as the pursuit arrived, the people in the Jeep would direct them. But going sideways instead of away from the chasers ate up his lead. He questioned the intelligence of turning back rather than fleeing, but it would be just a matter of time before they caught him. He couldn’t hope to beat them all.
His hopes relied on getting to that Jeep before anyone saw him.
As he moved from the cover of the house on the east side, the first pursuer emerged from between two houses about midway down the block on the west side. Mark was in the middle of the street racing for the Jeep. The passenger in the Jeep opened his door to signal to the approaching gunman, unaware that Mark was closing on him. He was dressed in army camouflage like he was running a military operation. Before he could turn around in response to the approaching gunman’s waving arms, Mark shot him in the back.
The gunman stopped, knelt, and fired at Mark. Using the open door for cover, Mark kept low and ran toward the Jeep. The driver spun wildly in each direction looking over his shoulders. The shooter in the street advanced. Mark popped up and fired twice at him, missing both times. The man ducked and fired back.
The driver started the motor, but before he could put it in gear, Mark reached the door and fired inside once. The man squealed as the bullet ripped into his leg.
The advancing man kept shooting at the Jeep’s door, trying to keep Mark pinned down.
Mark popped up in the space between the door and the frame and squeezed off two more rounds. This time the bullets spun the shooter around and down.
At least six more men were running toward the Jeep from behind the downed shooter. He needed to move now, or it would be too late. The man in the driver’s seat pulled a pistol. Mark dove for the ground as the shot shattered the window. Reaching his arm back through the door Mark fired several times. The man slumped over the wheel. Reaching in, Mark hauled him out of the Jeep as more shots landed around him. Dumping the body to the ground, Mark tossed in the rifle and scrambled into the driver’s seat. Keeping his head down, he shifted into reverse and floored it.
Bullets peppered the vehicle like hail. Several rounds punched through the windshield. When he reached what he thought was the end of the street, he spun the wheel hard. His estimation was wrong. The rear tires bumped up the curb. He crashed into a small tree, slamming him into the wheel. He was broadside to the approaching squad. Mark risked a look. Just as his head came up, a man’s face appeared in the window. Mark lifted the 9mm and shot him. Men were closing in around him from all directions. Bullets tore into the Jeep’s interior. He threw the shift into drive and shoved the pedal to the floor. The car leaped forward as bullets struck the side. A bullet punched through the door and creased the top of his thigh.
One man jumped on the hood while another hopped on the rear bumper. For fear others might catch him, Mark didn’t want to risk slamming on the brakes to dislodge them. Instead, he continued accelerating and fired through the windshield. This time, however, the window spider-webbed from the bullet’s impact, distorting Mark’s view of the road ahead. Seeing the gun aimed at him, the rider on the hood let go and attempted to roll off. However, Mark’s next shot found him, causing the man to roll over the front bumper. The Jeep bounced over the human speed bump, causing Mark to lose his grip on the wheel. He swore, fought to regain control, but the Jeep lurched sideways and hit a curb, almost toppling on its side.
Mark dropped the gun on the passenger’s seat to turn the wheel with both hands. With great relief, he managed to swing the Jeep back onto the road. The near miss took his mind from the second man clinging to the Jeep until he heard him on the roof. Mark reached for the gun on the seat as the first bullet hit the console right next to him. He swerved the vehicle back and forth, forcing his unwanted passenger to hold on with both hands or be tossed to the road.
In the mirror, he could see men still pursuing him, shooting at the Jeep in spite of their comrade on top. He had just found the butt of the pistol when one of the rear tires blew. The Jeep was thrown to the right, driving at an angle. The rider on the roof slid to that side, his legs dangling over the edge as he hung on to the cargo rack. With both hands steadying the wheel, Mark risked a glance at the gun.
It was no longer on the seat. It had bounced to the floor.
“Damn!”
Mark dared not take his foot off the gas pedal. He knew the drag of the blown tire would slow him down. The men in the mirror looked smaller as Mark pulled away. He had to keep going. A bullet destroyed the side mirror. Another whizzed past his ear.
The attacker hanging from the luggage rack began to kick the side of the Jeep, trying to get enough traction to climb back on top. Mark watched as one leg disappeared.
Mark looked down at the gun agonizingly out of reach. It was only a matter of time before shots began raining down upon him again. He doubted he’d be as lucky this time. There had to be something he could do.
Then he remembered the second gun he had picked up and stashed at the small of his back. He leaned forward and pulled the gun free, just as a gun snaked through the shattered passenger window. The first shot passed behind Mark’s head, burying in the seat; a second whizzed past his head.
Mark pointed the gun toward the roof and fired several times. He was rewarded with a scream and a body flying from the vehicle.
Mark was just thinking he might make it when the other rear tire blew. The Jeep swerved again while he put a death grip on the wheel to keep the vehicle moving. He saved it from crashing, but much of his speed had been bled off. He looked in the rearview mirror. The pursuit, which had stopped because he was pulling away, started again when they heard the tire give way.
Mark wasn’t going to get anywhere like that. He had a block and a half lead. He turned at the next corner, drove far enough so as not to be seen, and abandoned the Jeep. Grabbing the rifle and both handguns, he sprinted for his life down once-desirable suburban streets.
Twenty-Nine
He took off at a fast jog. At the first street he came to, he went left, running the length of the street before turning right again. Exhausted and bleeding in places where he hadn’t realized he was injured, he could taste the expended gasses from the guns. Desperate for water and rest, Mark knew he couldn’t stop. As he ran, he reevaluated his position and options. He was about two miles from his old house. There would be shelter and the only two men who were aware of the secret room were dead. He was also certain there was still a case or two of food and water in the cavern.
With his destination now set, he settled into an easy jog to save what little energy reserves he had left. His breathing became more ragged and his heart pounded as though trying to escape his chest. Every muscle in his body felt on fire. He lost track of how far he had gone. Several times, he
stopped to look behind him, thinking he heard cars approaching. Each time, he was wrong. It was his imagination or his paranoia.
With the sun low, leaving only an hour or so of daylight, Mark finally did hear cars. But, in the exhausted state he was in, he didn’t hear them soon enough and didn’t react in time when he did. He was still on the street, staggering from his exertion, when a blue Chevy and a green Ford came to the intersection fifty yards behind him.
He dashed for the cover of a small white birch and pulled the rifle from his shoulder. The cars hesitated, then swung toward him side-by-side, revving their engines as if getting ready to drag race. Then as one, they exploded forward.
Mark wiped the sweat from his eyes and lined up the shot. They were barreling at him, speed increasing by the second. He squeezed the trigger and the driver of the Chevy rocked backward and fell forward on the wheel. The car bumped the Ford, sending it careening up and over the curb on the far side.
The Chevy, after bouncing off the Ford, changed course and now bore down on his tree again. Mark dashed toward the corner house seconds before the car crashed head-on into the tree. The tree bent over, splintering at the point of impact. The car rode up on the trunk and stopped as if impaled.
The driver of the Ford did a squealing one-eighty turn on the road, facing Mark only twenty yards away. There were two men inside. Both side windows rolled down. The driver stuck a gun out the window. The passenger climbed out the window and sat on the door frame, aiming a gun, then fired.
Mark was in the open. He raised the rifle hurriedly and fired back. The bullet ricocheted off the roof inches to the right of the shooter. Then Mark turned and ran.
The car raced toward him jumping the curb. It would be on him in seconds. Mark dove and rolled as the car sped past. The driver braked and spun another one-eighty. Mark got to his feet, ran the other direction, and hid behind the wrecked car just as the bullets would have reached him. The driver braked hard, sliding past the wreck. Mark dropped the rifle, pulled out both handguns, and like some old-time western sheriff, advanced on the car with both guns blazing. He hit the driver several times before switching both barrels at the passenger. The passenger ducked back inside for better cover and tried firing out the window, past the body of the driver.
