Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (30 page)

"I said, get off my property!"

One of the men with a pistol shouldered the unarmed man forward.
 
He held up a sheet of paper in a shaking hand.
 
His voice shook and cracked.
 
The wind carried his words to Denny:
 
"By order of Mayor Wills and his chief lieutenant, John Townsen, this property is hereby confiscated for the greater good of the population of Salmon Falls!"

"Bullshit!" spat McDonnell.
 

"George McDonnell," continued the speaker, "you are hereby ordered to vacate the premises, effective immediately.
 
If you cannot or will not do so under your own power, we have been authorized by—"

McDonnell pointed the barrel of his shotgun toward the speaker's face.
 
Both men with pistols aimed at McDonnell.

"Drop your weapon!" screamed one.

"Fuck you!" shouted McDonnell.
 
"Ain't nobody tellin' me I can't live in my own home!
 
I fought two wars for this country, I paid for this house, and nobody owns this house but
me!
 
You see the mayor's name on the title to this property?
 
Hell no!
 
It's
mine!
 
And I will God damn kill any man who says otherwise!"

Despite the severity of the situation, Denny smiled.
 
Old man McDonnell would never back down to threats.
 
He was exactly the man Denny needed for the resistance.
 
It was high time to diffuse the situation.
 

Denny took stock of what he carried.
 
His Tomahawk wouldn't be much good at this distance.
 
He thought back to the meeting with Anse and Deputy Griswold.
 
That was kind of a lucky throw.
 
It'd been foolish and stupid of him to throw his only weapon like that.
 
He'd never make that mistake again, regardless of how it turned out the first time.
 

He had his bow and some hickory arrows with him on the off chance he spotted game while on his way to town on his recruiting mission.
 
Denny judged the distance to McDonnell's house.
 
He was sure he could take at least one of the armed men, but both of them aimed their weapons at George.
 
If he got one, the other would get McDonnell.

Denny looked down at his feet as the shouting continued across the street. He scraped away some of the snow and found a chunk of brick, charred black from the fire that had gutted the house he now hid behind.
 
He picked up the brick, turned and threw it up the street a ways, aiming for a neighboring house.
 
The brick clattered against the front door and fell with the plop into the slushy snow on the front step.
 

Both the armed men turned to look, and Denny saw their guns waiver off target.
 
McDonnell saw it too—he swung the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
 
Fire and smoke belched straight at Townsen's representative.
 
The man crumpled into the snow as his partner tripped and fell sideways.
 
Before he could point his gun at McDonnell, the old man pumped the scattergun and took aim.
 

The man froze, his pistol in the snow and useless.
 

Denny stepped out from behind the house and knocked an arrow.
 
He took two steps into the street before he announced his presence.
 
"All right, everybody stop it, right now!" he called out.
 
All three men turned to face Denny.

"Denny?" asked McDonnell, his shotgun still pointed at the man in the snow.

"Oh,
shit
," muttered the man in the snow.
 
Recognition flashed across his face.

"You!" Denny said.
 
He recognized the face—the man who'd shot Anse and slipped away back at the clearing.
 
Denny drew back on the arrow and took aim.
 
He held it at the corner of his lip and debated what to do.

"You really gonna shoot me with a bow and arrow?
 
Really?
" asked the man laying on the ground as he aimed his pistol at Denny's chest.
 
"Didn't anybody ever tell you not to bring a bow to a gunfight?"

"I'm pretty sure at this distance you can kill me with that gun of yours…" Denny said as he took another step forward in the street.
 
"But I'm definitely sure this arrow here can pin you to the ground before you can move."

The smile faded from the man's face.
 

"He won't have to fire that arrow once I excavate your cranium," growled old man McDonnell.
 
The man with the pistol turned and noticed the open-ended maw of McDonnell's shotgun pointed at the back of his head.
 
He quickly raised both hands and dropped the pistol.

Denny released the tension on his bowstring as he trotted across the street.
 
He reached down and picked up the pistol, dusted off the snow, and slipped it into his coat pocket.
 
"Who are you?
 
What's your name?"

The man in the snow smiled at him.

"Man asked you a question, boy."
 
McDonnell took one wobbly step down from his porch and rested the edge of his shotgun against the back of the man's head.

Denny squatted in front of the prisoner and stared into his blue eyes.
 
"I've never seen you around here before.
 
Where'd you come from?"

"You know what you are?
 
You're nothing but a vigilante," the man said in a quiet voice.
 
"And you will have an entire shit ton of trouble dropped on your heads if anything happens to me."

Denny looked up and down the deserted, snow-covered street.
 
"Really?
 
And why is that?"

The man slowly moved his left hand to his jacket and pulled it open.
 
Underneath was a bright gold star imprinted with the words: US Marshal.
 

"Because that right there is my ticket out of jail.
 
That's right, you crazy son of a bitch," he said with a smirk for McDonnell, "I'm a Federal Marshal.
 
I've been tasked with bringing law and order to the loyal citizens of Salmon Falls."

"Loyal to who?" snapped McDonnell.
 
He jerked the barrel of his shotgun forward to put emphasis on his words.

The law man winced and glanced over his shoulder at McDonnell.
 
"You're just digging yourself a deeper grave, old timer.
 
When the mayor finds out about this—"

"Who do you work for?" asked Denny.

"The President."

"Which one?" demanded McDonnell.
 
He shuffled sideways through the snow and stood next to Denny.
 
The shotgun wobbled slightly.
 
Denny shot a sideways glance at McDonnell and saw sweat bead on his forehead.
 

The marshal saw it too.
 
"That shotgun gettin' heavy for you, old man?"
 

Denny stared at him and noticed his left hand inch its way toward his leg, half-buried in the snow.
 
He reached under his coat and pulled out his tomahawk, allowing the dim sun to flash across the razor-sharp edge.
 
The marshal's eyes went wide as the blade came to rest on his neck.
 
"Why don't you move your hand a little further away from your ankle."

"Okay…okay," the marshal intoned as he lifted both hands back in the air.
 
"No need to go all native on me or anything," he muttered.
 
"I got a small pistol strapped to my leg, that's the only other weapon I'm carrying.
 
Honest."

Denny nodded and removed his tomahawk from the man's throat.
 
He lifted the marshal's pant cuff and found the small pistol strapped to his boot.
 
Denny stuck it in his pocket.
 
He stood and sheathed this tomahawk.
 

"Why are you trying to take Mr. McDonnell's house?"

The marshal shrugged, an awkward gesture with both hands in the air.
 
"Hell if I know.
 
The mayor said had to be done and I'm here to support the mayor—whatever he does—since he proclaimed loyalty to President Barron.
 
It's nothing personal, sir," he said with a glance towards McDonnell.
 
"I'm just doing my duty."

McDonnell gripped the shotgun tighter.
 
"Said every guard at Auschwitz," he spat.
 
"Don't mean you're any less evil for doing it."

Denny stepped closer to the boomstick wielding vet.
 
"George, what do we do with this guy?"

A police siren wailed in the distance.

McDonnell cursed and spat in the snow.
 
"Don't know, but whatever it is, we better do it quick."

"I will not kill this man," Denny breathed.

"Thank you," breathed the marshal.
 
The man looked visibly shaken and a good deal paler than when he'd been holding his own weapon.

Denny ignored him.
 
"We need to get out of here."

McDonnell chuckled.
 
"I'm too damn old to run off."
 
He adjusted the grip on his shotgun.
 
"Ain't going anywhere—besides, I ain't got nowhere to
go
."
 

Denny looked down at the bow in his hands. "George, you can't stay here—not with him…"

"Well," said McDonnell as he cocked his head to listen to the approaching siren.
 
"I can't go anywhere else, either—and I sure as hell ain't lettin' him go," he said at their prisoner.
 
"Go on, Denny, get out of here.
 
I ain't going down without a fight—don't worry about that."

"George," hissed Denny.
 
"You can't fight Townsen by yourself."

"I've lived long enough to know what freedom really is, Denny.
 
I ain't about to give that up now.
 
The good Lord has given me an opportunity to go out on my feet, fighting like a man.
 
I can't pass on that, son."
 

The old man smiled.
 
"You get to be my age, you'll understand.
 
Dying in your bed, covered in your own piss and shit…"
 
He shook his head. "That ain't something I'm looking forward to."
 
He took a deep breath as if settling himself.
 
"Go on, now, get!"

Denny hesitated a moment in the gathering darkness.
 
He could just make out the form of a car as it flashed by the cross street in the distance.

"Stupid sons of bitches picked the wrong road," said McDonnell.
 
"Mailman's been screwing up my mail for 20 years.
 
Looks like the Townsen's boys aren't any better…" He turned to face Denny.
 
"Please.
 
Go—spread the word.
 
There's more people in town that know what you're doing than you think.
 
We want to fight."

"Don't listen to him, sir," said the marshal.
 
"The only thing you'll end up doing is getting yourself killed."
 
He took a breath and stared at Denny.
 
"If you turn yourself in, I can guarantee your safety.
 
I'll take you into Federal custody myself and Townsen and his slack-jawed yokels won't be able to touch you.
 
Please, sir, think about it.
 
I've seen too much bloodshed between Americans since everything went crazy—I don't want to see this town destroyed any more than it has been already."
 

Denny stepped back from the two men.
 
"I can't go with you," he said to the marshal.
 
"I can't."
 
He turned to McDonnell.
 
"May
mishe moneto
guide you and protect you, George.
 
Your spirit is strong."

McDonnell laughed.
 
"You remember to tell stories about me when I'm gone, you hear?
 
When it gets cold and dark and people question what the hell they're fighting for, you tell 'em 'bout old George McDonnell and how he stood up and flipped Townsen the bird."

Denny put a hand on McDonnell's shoulder.
 
"I will, George.
 
I surely will."

The old man laughed.
 
"Now go, before they come back here and skin your red ass!"
 
His shotgun steadied on the marshal's chest.
 
"As for you…"

"Hey!
 
No, n-n-n-no…" the man blubbered.
 
"Don't do this, sir!"

"George, no!" pleaded Denny.

The shotgun wavered.
 
McDonnell grimaced.
 
Finally, he closed his eyes and lowered the shotgun.
 
"Ah hell, I never killed an unarmed man yet."
 
He exhaled.
 
"Don't guess I'll start now."

Denny turned to leave. "What about him," he said pointing at the mayor's representative, laying on his back in a pool of blood-covered snow.
 

McDonnell spat.
 
"This is my house…" He turned back to the marshal.
 
"Well, what you waitin' for, a formal invite?
 
Get your worthless ass off my property.
 
Go run back to your masters.
 
You tell 'em George McDonnell ain't leaving—and there ain't no force on earth that can make me leave."