Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (28 page)

John knew the radio safeguard measure was contrary to his promise with Jenna, the one about not being worried for his life, but that belief didn’t justify any carelessness or risk on his part. In fact, John was even more dedicated to his survival since having the last spiritual experience. It was strange to be less afraid, but more cautious; less worried about threats to his life, but more careful with those of others. He was now operating under a very different perspective.

Nothing about the Hernandez home looked different, or stranger than any other home he passed on his way. It was dark, like all the others, and quiet, but it still felt different.
No
, John corrected himself,
it was too dark and too quiet. It was like a heavy blanket covered it
. John opened his mind, willing his senses to reach into the house. He wanted to feel more, to feel something, a confirmation that trouble was afoot, but nothing new came to him.
So much for exercising my spiritual self
, thought John.

Their van wasn’t parked in the driveway, but John figured Paul probably moved it into the garage when the ash started to fall. He also noticed a pickup truck sitting on the shoulder about a hundred yards up the road, just past the Hernandez’s property line, and that caught John’s attention. Few people in the neighborhood parked on the street. And with the ash on the road, that seemed even less likely to happen. Every house in the neighborhood had a long, double wide driveway.
There was plenty of room for parking, even for visitors. Nobody parked on the street in John’s neighborhood except for service and delivery vehicles.

John stood and walked casually to the truck, knowing that his slow movements would attract less attention than fast, sudden ones. He approached the truck from behind and tactically made his way to the driver’s side door. It was empty. John paused to listen, and registered the latent noise to establish how much noise he could make without attracting attention. He tried the driver’s side door, but it was locked. With the helmet flashlight in hand, he cupped the end of the light and shined a muted beam into the truck’s cab. It was littered with paper, empty aluminum beer cans, empty packs of cigarettes, and an assortment of fast food and candy wrappers. John saw that the passenger side door was unlocked, so he killed his flashlight and walked to the other side.

He opened the passenger door, flipped on his flashlight, and went straight for the glove box. Finding it locked, John fished through the trash on the floor, and under the bench seat, in search of something useful to pry open the glove box. He found a new roll of duct tape, and a large standard-tip screwdriver. Pleased with his find, John rammed the tip of the screwdriver into the edge of the glove box, and using it as a lever, he pulled quickly downward. The door popped open to reveal a collection of documents, gas station receipts, and a small baggie of marijuana and a pipe.

John dropped the screwdriver to the floor and flipped on the flashlight. He found exactly what he was looking for, the vehicle’s registration paper. The truck was registered to a Darrel Fallen, of Krum, Texas.
Well, that just about makes us neighbors
, thought John. That confirmed it for John. He knew who he was dealing with, Darrel, the battery man. He suppressed feelings of excitement over the anticipated confrontation with the troublemaker. He knew it wasn’t right to look forward to hurting someone, even someone as rotten as Darrel, but if he was in the Hernandez’ home, most assuredly uninvited, John knew
he would gladly exact some very rough justice. And he was prepared to administer said justice, with extreme prejudice even.

John made his way back to the Hernandez’s home, but he wanted to first take up a different position of observation. If memory served, he remembered the Hernandez’s had some kind of play station in their backyard. Not wanting to enter the back yard from the front, John walked through the neighbor’s yard. Using bushes to conceal his movement, John cut across the yard and reached the play station. He knew he didn’t have time to waste, but he was also starved for intelligence. He couldn’t go in, guns blazing, if the kids were in the house, which he was certain they were. He just wanted to know where they were. He also doubted Darrel was tactically trained, but he couldn’t afford to be overconfident, not when so many good lives were on the line.

He positioned himself under the play station and released the mute button on his radio to send a brief report to Adam. Adam must have been listening carefully, because he peppered John with questions about his activity. John told him to keep listening, but he did amend his standing orders. He told Adam that if he heard the words, “I surrender,” over the radio, he was to drive the Suburban immediately to the Hernandez home and wait for further instructions. Adam acknowledged the instructions, and John returned the radio to its mute – transmit only - setting.

There was surprisingly little ash under the play station, and it offered John a great view of the back of the Hernandez home, but it was still too dark to see anything helpful.
Nothing significant to report
, said John. For the first time, he regretted not bringing his rifle with the night scope, or even a pair of binoculars. Most people didn’t know that certain brands of binoculars worked really well in the dark, but that knowledge didn’t comfort John while he sat under the Hernandez’s play station, straining his eyes to see into their house without the help of magnified optics.

John thought he saw a flicker of light from the kitchen window, but he wasn’t sure. He reasoned it was a flashlight beam because it
moved high, and quickly, across the drawn curtains. Several minutes later another flash of light appeared across an upstairs window, but again, it was faint, and offered John little in terms of useful intelligence. About five minute later, John saw the lights of a vehicle coming down the road from the direction of where the pickup was parked. He dashed out from under the play station and quickly took up a position at the left side of the house, near the garage door.

Breathing heavily from the exertion of running through the ash, it dawned on him that someone was with Darrel, and that observing the house from the backyard was not the best of plans, especially when he was acting alone. John also chided himself for not flattening at least one of the pickup’s tires. That simple act would have taken less than ten seconds, but given John much more time to respond to Darrel’s unpredictable actions.

From a concealed position by a hedge, John watched the pickup move slowly past the Hernandez’s driveway and stop. The truck’s back-up lights came on, and the vehicle began to slowly back down the driveway. The driver overcompensated a few times, swerving slightly left and right, as if unfamiliar with backing up the vehicle. John realized it wasn’t Darrel driving the truck, and his suspicions were confirmed when the vehicle stopped and the driver’s door opened. The interior dome light revealed the driver to be female, thirty-something, with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore torn and faded jeans, with a black leather vest over a long-sleeved red T-shirt. In that brief glimpse of light before the door shut, John saw that her vest was adorned with an extensive array of patches and embroidery. He couldn’t make out any detail from where he stood, but he was certain she was a biker chick.

John knew there were many respectable motorcycle club members who wore vests with patches and insignia, but so did the few asocial gangs that roamed the country. He didn’t know what club the woman rode with, but the fact that she was in the Hernandez’s home was enough to convince John that she wasn’t from one of the good ones. If
she was so bold as to wear her vest during the crime, then the invaders were more likely planning to eliminate all the witnesses.
If they hadn’t already done so
, thought John. The situation was now a lot more serious, and much more dangerous.

He let the woman pass around to the rear of the pickup, and then he silently dashed forward and slipped an arm around her neck. He locked his right hand into his left arm, and quickly slid his left hand up and over her head to brace it against his arm. As soon as the headlock was set, John leaned back and lowered himself, and the woman, to the ground. He wrapped his legs around her waist to prevent her from reaching for any weapons, and then he waited. She thrashed wildly for a few seconds, but then quickly relaxed when the blood flow to her brain stopped flowing. She was out cold, but John maintained the pressure hold for an additional minute to make sure she wasn’t playacting. Finally, John pushed the woman off his chest and knelt beside her. He quickly searched her for weapons. After finding and pocketing a rather large pocket knife, John stood and looked down at her. Now he had a problem of securing the woman.

He knew it wouldn’t be long before Darrel came looking for her, so he grabbed her arms and quickly dragged her to the side of the house. In a search for something sturdy to secure her to, John spotted a narrow oak tree at the edge of the yard. He dragged her over to it and leaned her against it. After pulling her arms behind her, John used two heavy duty zip-ties to form interlocking loops and slipped them over the woman’s wrists before pulling them tight. John knew the big zip-ties weren’t as good as flexi-cuffs, but they would work for the moment. John also applied two zip-ties, in like manner, to the woman’s ankles. He thought of stuffing a rag in her mouth, but he didn’t have one, and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice his bandana on her, so he let it go. Besides, he didn’t think she’d regain consciousness before he was finished with Darrel.

The woman’s head hung limp on her chest, and John removed a glove and placed two fingers on her neck to check her pulse. Satisfied
that she was alive and breathing, he left her under the tree and walked to the front of the house. He paused to listen for any sign of Darrel, but he heard nothing. He wanted to take the keys from the pickup, but didn’t dare risk silhouetting himself against the truck’s interior dome light, so he decided to leave the truck keys where they were and wait for Darrel to make the next move.

Cautiously, John moved to the front door. He pressed himself against the widest section of brick wall, between the door and the first window, and paused to listen. Standing under a covered patio meant there was very little ash at his feet, which he knew would make quick movements much easier, but he felt very exposed. Other than Darrel, John didn’t think there were any more members in the home invasion party, not with the pickup being the only means of transportation, but that clearly wasn’t a guarantee. As challenging as it would be to ride in the back of that truck with ash in the air, someone could have managed it, so he couldn’t afford to charge the house until he knew who else remained.

John heard movement at the window to his right and he quickly pressed himself against the exterior wall. The blinds had been quickly pushed aside and released in one quick motion. Someone had just looked outside, probably to see if the truck was in the driveway. Other than that one flash of activity, everything remained silent. He hoped to hear something from inside the house, any clue about the disposition of the Hernandez family, but again, there was nothing but silence. He was beginning to fear for the worse, that Darrel had already killed them.

John was about to change tactics when he heard the garage door slide up in its tracks. Darrel apparently wasn’t happy about having to raise the door manually, because several curses kept pace with his effort. John knew it wasn’t Paul. He just wasn’t the cursing type, so John quickly moved to the opposite side of the front door and leaned against the short wall that separated the garage from the entryway patio. A beam of light penetrated the dark and flickered over the
truck’s tailgate before going out. Another curse, followed by heavy footsteps.

“Lou!” came an irritated, but cautiously subdued voice from inside the garage. John wondered why Darrel was being so cautious if he felt he was in control of the situation. He wondered how it would have played out if he secured the woman to the truck’s steering wheel. “Luanne, where the hell are you? Damn you, woman, I told you to meet me at the garage door!” hissed Darrel.

John peered around the corner, just to keep an eye on the driveway, and he waited patiently for Darrel to step out from the garage and reveal himself. He didn’t know if Darrel was armed, but he wasn’t about to risk a direct confrontation without first knowing what was in his hands. John commanded himself to wait, to be patient and wait for Darrel to make the next move. But with the advantage potentially slipping away, John quickly considered his options and decided to force a confrontation outside, away from the house and the Hernandez family.

Once again he wished he was in a better position to observe the house, but he had to make do with the condition and situation. John hoped Darrel was stupid enough to think Luanne was off emptying her bladder somewhere, or maybe even standing at the front door.

“Luanne! Get your ass in here . . . right now!” hissed Darrel.

Then John had an idea. He silently drew his pistol, coughed lightly, and wrapped on the front door with moderate force, three times, very quickly. It was his intent to imitate Luanne, and though it was a risky move, he hoped Darrel’s overconfidence, a belief that he was in control, was enough to make him walk around to the front door.

John heard more footsteps and saw a flashlight beam sweep across the ash covered walkway. He pressed himself deeper against the wall and waited for Darrel to appear. A flashlight beam settled on the trail in the ash as Darrel stepped clear of the garage, and complaining as he walked, he said, “What the hell, Luanne? Why can’t you follow simple instructions you stupid . . .”

“Hey, pal. It’s good to see you again,” said John, in a casual tone, as he turned to face Darrel. Surprised, Darrel spun quickly and attempted to lift his flashlight and shotgun individually, which never worked in a tactical situation. John’s instinctive defensive reaction was to shoot, and he did, but not with the trained and conditioned double-tap to Darrel’s chest, but instead to his left leg just above his knee. Darrel screamed, dropped his flashlight, and reached for his damaged leg as he fell to the ground. Through it all, Darrel managed to maintain a grip on the shotgun. He tried to lift it to aim it at John, but John quickly stepped forward and pinned it to the ground with his boot. In a calm voice, John said, “If you try to move again I’ll shoot you in the other leg. I don’t want to kill you Darrel, but if you resist I will shoot you again.”