Curtain Fall: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 1) (45 page)

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. What exactly do you want?” asked John, as he opened the door another five inches. He was careful to keep at least half his body behind the door where he stood, and he also shifted his weight to his right foot and planted it firmly against the base of the door in case the man tried to charge him. John cursed himself for not having installed the door brace, but that would be his next order of business.

The man removed his hat and brushed ash off his face before slapping the hat against his thigh. He did the same with his shirt, as if he anticipated entering the house, and a gray cloud of ash was soon formed around him. John had no intention of letting the man in the house, with or without ash.

“The power’s out,” said the stranger who identified himself as Darrel.

“Yeah, we have the same problem here,” replied John, blandly.

“Do you have any batteries to spare?” asked Darrel, taking another small step closer to the door. John wasn’t worried about the man’s approach. In fact, he was actually ready for it to turn aggressive. When he charged, John decided he would just move out of the way and let the door swing freely open under the man’s weight, and then shoot him once in the leg.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any spare batteries,” said John.

“Just two double-A batteries,” said the man, “That’s all I need, man.”

“I said I don’t have any batteries to spare,” repeated John, patiently.

“I know you have batteries,” said Darrel. “You have a working flashlight.”

“And you don’t, so what does that make me other than prepared,” said John, irritated with the dialogue.

“That makes you a survivalist, in my book.”

“Really? You can tell all that from my flashlight?” said John.

“That . . . and the fact that your windows are all boarded up. It looks like you’re ready for a fight.”

“Is that so,” said John. “And what are you?”

“Me?” snorted the man. “I’m a . . . was a construction worker. But now I guess I’m just trying to be a survivalist . . . like you.”

John didn’t reply and waited patiently for the man to continue. “Look, can’t you spare even one double-A battery?” he asked, now more serious than pleading. Darrel managed to move within arm’s reach of the front door, and John was ready to terminate the conversation.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” said John, and he stepped back to shut the door. But at the same moment the big man stepped forward and placed his booted right foot between the door and the door frame, effectively preventing John from closing the door.

Instantly furious and spurred to action, John flung the door open in a swift movement and kicked Darrel square in the chest with his right foot. John leaned into the kick, exerting all the force he could muster given his position and timing, and sent the man staggering backward, across the patio.

Darrel lost his footing on the top step of the front patio and fell back while swinging his arms wildly to catch his balance. He finally slipped off the steps and fell to the ground, landing hard on his butt, and spraying up ash all around him.

John’s follow-up movement was just as fluid, and he approached the fallen man with his pistol pointing at his face. Darrel’s eyes grew wide in surprise, and he began to scoot away from John like a crab, plowing up ash against his back.

At peace with his position and control of the situation, John put his finger on the pistol’s trigger and pulled in the slack. He stopped just short of firing the weapon and said, in a clear and calm voice, “You are not welcome here. And if I ever see you on my doorstep again, I’ll shoot you in the head and bury you in my backyard. Do I make myself clear?”