From there, he could see he’d forgotten something. The puddle of medication was right there.
The footsteps got louder and closer. Crawling back to wipe up his spill would take superhuman speed. No choice but to leave it. He pressed his feet against the wall and gave himself a hard shove, sliding down the hallway just seconds before the footsteps reached the hallway.
He could hear and feel the bearded gangbanger’s steps just miss his body as he went down the hallway. Once there, he seemed to stop. Nearly a minute went by without a sound.
Hatfield panicked, worried that he was standing at the door, leering down at him. He gave his eyelids a slight lift, seeing nothing at the doorway.
“Doggone it, Rick!” he called from the bedroom. “You think you could maybe pour this liquor so that you can get as much in the tube as on the floor!”
“What’s that?” Rick answered from a distant room.
“Never mind.”
He could now hear the guy gulping down the mystery liquid, then placing the tube on the windowsill. Seconds later, he heard the metallic clank of the bearded gangbanger lifting his rifle. And the clanks weren’t done. He now heard the chamber being slammed shut and the rifle being cocked.
As Hatfield waited for the medication to take effect, an eternity seemed to pass. The bearded gangbanger stepped to the door and paused. Several seconds went by, sending panic through Hatfield as he wondered about what he was hearing—and what he was not hearing.
All at once, the gangbanger’s body landed loudly on the hardwood floor. Hatfield slowly opened his eyes to see him splayed in the doorway, rifle halfway down the hallway.
“The hell was that?” Rick called from the kitchen.
Hatfield slipped the medication bottle back into his pocket, then shoved himself to the rifle. A lucky break, although he’d need free hands before he could take advantage of it.
And a yell from the kitchen hinted that time was running short. “What’s wrong? You had a few too many hits from the homemade hooch?”
Hatfield turned, angled his roped hands to the gun’s turret, feeling for the sharpest thing he could find. Noticing a sharp edge along the turret, he lowered his hands and brought his wrists to a sawing motion, moving as quickly as he could without making a sound.
Another call from the kitchen. “You okay in there?”
More sawing, faster. Hard to do quietly.
“You okay?” Rick repeated, his voice now closer, footsteps on their way to the hallway.
No time to keep things quiet. He had to get those hands free and the rifle in his grip. He’d snapped the rope off just as the steps got there.
A shirtless, leather-vested gangbanger stood before him, gawking. He dove for the rifle, getting there seconds after Hatfield could yank it away from him. The guy landed a haymaker on his opponent’s chin, then reached again for the rifle.
Hatfield took a swing, pounding his chest with it just enough to knock him off balance. The gangbanger charged a third time, eyes narrow with rage.
But Hatfield turned the rifle around just in time and fired away, slipping his finger through the trigger guard before the weapon could be pulled from his hands. A shot rang out and ripped the gangbanger’s chest into a sea of crimson as a new set of footsteps charged forward.
Leaping to his feet, Hatfield held the gun before him. But he saw nothing and heard nothing. He reached down and untangled his ankles, rifle still poised.
Creeping out from the hallway and into the living room, he heard a faint noise behind a sofa, then took a few shots, hitting nothing.
He crept a few feet farther out, keeping his breath soft to avoid making too much noise. A body leaped up, firing twice. Hatfield fired three, maybe four times, then dropped to the floor as he heard his target also fall. He grimaced and grunted through clenched teeth, feeling a sting at his shoulder.
But ten feet ahead of him, the spot of his fallen target, he heard nothing at all. Creeping closer, he saw a body face-up, eyes wide and staring at nothing. After giving the compound a quick scan to make sure there was nobody else there, he returned to the hallway where he woke up all the other homesteaders—fourteen of them in total—their eyes wide with horror.
He knelt and started untying with the most horrified face he saw—Grace’s. “You doing okay?” he asked, slipping the gag from her mouth.
She pushed a small laugh from her shaky lips. “I’m trying.” But just as Hatfield pulled her to her feet, she turned to the doorway, eyes alert, shrieking, “Watch out!”
He turned, finding the bearded gangbanger there, heavy-lidded and leaning against the door, rifle at his hip. Out of options, Hatfield charged him, elbowed him in the face, bringing his drowsy body tumbling to the ground. “Hopefully he’s out for good this time.” When he saw Grace trembling, he gave her a hug. “Still trying?” he asked.
She nodded.
Hatfield untied the rest of the homesteaders, then addressed them. “Okay, guys, here’s the plan. We go to Jade’s bunker and pick up what we need so that we're ready for them when the rest of the gang gets here. Everybody got any questions?”
Gary asked. “Yeah, what happens next?”
“What happens next is we win; we defend this place doing whatever it takes.”
“But they’ve got us outnumbered!” another homesteader spat.
“Remember when we attacked those guys at the hospital? The numbers didn’t matter. What mattered was that we were running into a jungle we weren’t familiar with. But they’d been there, waiting for us. They knew exactly where they were and how to navigate the area. That’s the advantage we’ve got now, and it’ll be all we need. Now let’s get out of here and take care of business.”
31
Jess was as stunned as everybody else inside when the knock came to the bunker’s front door. The kids were engaged in a fun guessing game, transported for one glorious minute to a world that wasn’t on fire. But the knock brought reality roaring back, reminding everybody how much danger was out there and how important it was to keep it from leaking inside.
“That’s the knock!” Jade called, racing down the dark hallway. “Sounds pretty important.”
Jess stayed behind, arms roped around Tami and Justin’s shoulders. She saw Trevor and a few others speed into the bunker with urgency. “What’s going on?” she cried.
“We’ve got to get back in time to defend the homestead,” he said, stopping to hug his family. “No time to explain the situation exactly, but the main thing is to do what you have to do to stay safe. Okay?”
She nodded, doing her best to keep her eyes dry. This was the time to stay strong.
He added, “And that garden outside…”
Jade said, “Yes, we know it’s not safe out there, but the weather had been so nice, we just couldn’t resist.”
“No worries, but I’d recommend bringing whatever it is you’re growing out there in as soon as possible.”
Jess asked the little ones, “You got that, kids?”
“We’re with you all the way, Dad!” Tami said. After one more hug, he was gone.
Jess missed him already, knowing she’d see him again sometime, but unsure if that time would come in this life or the life to follow.
She turned back headed down the hallway. After reaching the small room in the back, she gazed at the escape hatch, wondering how much safer she’d feel if her husband had fixed that.
From behind, she heard Jade’s voice. “Okay, kids! Looks like things are getting crazy out there, so we better bring that stuff in from the garden before it’s too late!”
But Jess had a bad feeling about it. Something in her gut told her it was already too late.
Hatfield led the homesteaders back to the compound, crouched in the front and guiding the guys forward with hand gestures. Unsure if the gangbangers had gone back inside, he held them in place with a lifted hand, then slipped to the fence to check things out.
There was no guard in the front. Nor did he see movement
inside. He backpedaled to the homesteaders and said, “Okay, looks like we don’t have company just yet, but let’s step inside alertly just in case we have any surprises. Weapons ready.”
They each jumped the fence and went in the back door, moving slowly, heads swiveling from left to right. He took a headcount and saw everybody. With the female homesteaders staying at the bunker, they now numbered twelve.
Hatfield took a deep breath and addressed them, “All right, we want to be ready for them when they show up, so no messing around. As soon as you’re locked and loaded, get outside and find a place to dig in. But here’s the thing, guys. When you find a place, you are not going to stay there. I repeat, you are not going to sit there and be a static target. This is our terrain. We live here. We know the place; they don’t. The last thing we want to do is relinquish an advantage like that. Pick off and move. That’s the strategy of the day, guys. It’s the only way we bunch of Davids are going to beat the Goliath. Everybody with me?”
After a round of spirited “yeah,” they slipped outside, each finding a place to hide. Some crouched behind trees; others simply lay stretched out in the tall grass. Hatfield accompanied a few others in sweeping the perimeter—just in case of a sneak attack from the side. “Okay, guys! We’re going to do these sweeps every two minutes. Each time you come back to the front, check me out.” He lifted his hand by his face. “If you see this, that means get back into position because it’s time to rumble. Got it?”
They all nodded.
Hatfield watched them as they headed around the compound. He liked that they seemed ready for action. That mattered a great deal—especially today. Being ready for battle was just about all they had.
32
Several minutes had passed at the bunker, and the nagging feeling of fear kept stabbing at Jess’s gut. Having her and Jade’s kids still out collecting food from the garden felt wrong and dangerous. Never mind that the horizon outside looked empty the last time she’d checked. She cracked the door open and took another look. Once again, she found nothing.
Or maybe not.
“Everything going okay out there?” Jade called from the bathroom.
Jess didn’t answer right away. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward and focused on a lump in the distance. Probably nothing, she told herself. The lump was likely to just be a piece of debris or something that landed there. “I think so?”
But then it moved and revealed itself to be a man, rifle lifted to his eyes.
Jess yelled to the guard, “Oh my god! Kids, get in here—now!”
“But we’re still digging things up!” Tami screamed.
A gunshot fired, and several others followed.
Jess nearly screamed herself hoarse. “Get in here! Stop what you’re doing right now and get in here!”
“Okay!”
“Jade, I need you to tell me how to do the lock again!”
From the bathroom, Jade yelled, “My God, no! Are they okay out there?”
The gangbangers charged forward, straight for the front door just as the kids reached the doorway and slipped inside. Jess slammed the door but struggled with the odd contraption that locked it. “Jade, I need you!”
“Okay, I’ll be right there!” Her voice a little closer, echoing through the hallway.
But it was too late. The gangbangers pounded at the door, giving Jess no choice but to usher the kids away from it and toward the hallway as the sound of the door getting rammed off its hinges clanked behind her.
The sound of explosions and a roaring fire shot through the air miles away. “That sounded like it was close to the bunker,” Andy said to his leader.
Hatfield took a deep breath, reminding himself that no matter what kind of chaos was happening near the bunker, everyone inside would be safe provided they had locked up. Still, he had to fight off a nagging feeling deep in his bones.
“Looks like our company’s here!” Andy said, turning to him.
Hatfield nodded, letting him know it was time to get into place. Without a word, the young guy dashed away, hefting a bazooka to his shoulder and finding a discreet spot low in the weeds.
The gangbangers strutted forward, seeming as though they didn’t have a clue what was waiting for them. Perfect.
But then Hatfield made the mistake of counting them. This intimidated him at first, reminding him how outnumbered they were. But it was a useful count just the same. A battle wasn’t the time to lose count of how many unfriendly faces were out there. It turned out there were thirty-seven of them—against twelve defending the homestead. He swallowed hard and lifted a hand, gesturing that it was time to strike.
The first few shots worked exactly as planned, catching the gang off-guard. One of them screamed as he hit the grass below, a giant gusher of blood coming from his shoulder. Another took a shot in the belly, then tumbled forward.
But both guys climbed up and charged forward like the rest of them.
The gangbangers howled like maniacs, their chants and calls a weird combination of a victory celebration and a battle cry.
The rattle of gunfire shook Hatfield’s soul. He’d never heard anything like it. But he raced ahead anyway, tucking himself behind a tree and taking shots as the others did the same.
A homesteader took a shot in the chest, then hit the ground as a loud whimper filled the air. That gave Hatfield a chance to fire at the man who’d shot him, tagging his neck and sending him down for what had to be last time.
Bullets buzzed through the air, sometimes hitting a tree or the dirt. Other times the shots went to the sky, missing their target completely.
Hatfield slipped from tree to tree, then ducked into the weeds, taking shots. Only a few connected, but the puzzled looks of the enemy’s face told them the strategy was a good call. As the gangbanger’s howling faded into a whimper, he kept firing, taking out a few guys and watching as others found the bullets of well-hidden defenders of the compound.
The homesteaders weaved in and out of the impromptu battlefield, ducking behind trees, bushes, even a giant rock. They scampered in and out of the terrain. Their targets weren’t always hit, but after ten minutes or so, they’d taken out enough of the enemy to even the score.
By Hatfield’s count, there were eleven left, and before he could take a new tally, a few more had fallen, bringing the count to nine.
But those who remained had advanced pretty far, forcing the homesteaders to backpedal to the fence—which took their cover away. From the front of the line, a bazooka was fired, hitting the fence and ripping a gigantic hole in it.
The gangbangers charged inside it, putting the homesteaders into a panic. But Hatfield stayed calm. “Hold your positions!” he yelled, meaning he wanted everybody to stay hidden while continuing to fire away. They did just that, picking off the gangbangers one by one as they tried to slip toward the homestead.
Shots came from the grass, from the bushes, even from the branches of trees. They brought each of them down in a hail of bullets and desperate screams. There were now five left, then four.
The remaining four scattered, two racing toward the backyard, two scampering into the purse. Nathan was among the survivors, barking frantic orders from behind the cover of a much larger man, his voice shredded, his face red with rage and worry.
The other two charged for the porch, getting most of the homesteaders' attention, shooting two of them. Hatfield sprinted to the back, noticing both of those in the rear were wielding flame throwers.
Once he got there, he noticed he was alone without backup, firing a rifle against two with flame throwers. He tried for a quick retreat but got nowhere before stumbling to the ground and immediately feeling heat moving toward him.
As they advanced, trying to control the unwieldy fire, he scooped up his rifle, calmly took careful aim and fired twice, chopping one to the ground immediately and sending the other—the leader, Nathan—into the grass, clipped but not badly hurt. The guy tried to get his weapon under control as Hatfield did the same
with his rifle.
Hatfield got there first, firing away. But he only got dry clicks. He was out of bullets. So he lunged forward, feeling the heat along his back as he took the man down by the waist. The flame thrower dropped to the grass as Hatfield raised up and looked at the guy from above, his face suddenly small and pathetic. Without words, he seemed to be begging for mercy.
Hatfield lifted him to his feet, raised his fists. “Let’s go.”
“Huh?”
“You want this place? Fight me for it.”
Nathan spun in a desperate circle, looking for help. But he found none. He only got a haymaker from Hatfield that sent him back to the grass, eyes dead, body limp. He turned when he heard people running toward him.
It was a bunch of homesteaders, their faces warmed with smiles. “Sir, we got the front secured.”
Hatfield caught his breath and said, “Well… I’ve got the rear secured. Great job, guys! I’m proud of you all!”
But something in the distance, maybe fifty feet away and slowly closing in, caught his attention. Ten figures—six women, four kids, moving toward him, each carrying bags. He ran toward them.
Soon the faces came into focus. They were Jess, Tami, Justin, Jade, and her children. The other four women were Grace and the female homesteaders. They all smothered him with a hug. After coming up for air, he said, “What in God’s name happened to you guys? We were afraid something might have happened to the bunker!”
“Something did,” Jade answered, her eyes sad. “But we made it out—thanks to the escape hatch.”
“But it was busted!”
“Somebody fixed it,” Jess said, her face alive with a victorious smirk.
“And who could that have been?”
“Somebody with the calm, precise hands of a surgeon, that’s who,” she said.
Survive the Day Boxset: EMP Survival in a Powerless World Page 21
