SurviRal (35 page)

“I take it you folks have formed your own citizen’s militia?” Sergeant Robinson asked. “With a security camera system?”

Jenny abruptly repeated the air horn signal out the loft window.

“And your own alert signals to call for help?”

“That’s right,” Clint answered.

“In that case, we’ll let you handle your own trouble—as it seems you are well capable of.”

“How can you not respond to emergency cries for help?” Harold said. “You’re U.S. Army, for crying out loud.”

“Honey!” Jenny shouted from the window. “Another picture just came through. A green Ford Explorer is now in the Stuart’s driveway! And more motorcycles! Some of them have weapons pointed at the house. It looks like a gunfight could be starting!”

Clint saw the sergeant and his corporal look at each other at the mention of a green Ford Explorer. The faint sound of gunshots now rang from the direction of the Stuart property.

“The house to the west of you?” Sergeant Robinson asked.

“Yes!”

“All right. We’ll handle it. Let’s go, patrol!”

The army boys all jogged to the front of the house. Clint, Jake, and Harold followed. Clint heard some of the soldiers mumbling words to each other that included “savages.”

The soldiers climbed into their two Jeeps. The ones who didn’t have assault rifles suddenly produced them from somewhere. In another ten seconds, Tilley’s patrol was down the road, kicking up dust towards the Stuart house.

Jake, Harold, and Clint stood in the driveway alone.

“What should we do?” Clint asked.

* * *

“I don’t hear any crossfire,” Harold said as he handed Clint a rifle.

Clint raised his voice. “Honey, what do you see? Any soldiers yet?”

“No,” she replied from the front-side loft window. “The raiders look like they’re trying to break into the barn. One of the new pictures shows some of them pointing pistols at a window. Guys, you better go help!””

“Well?” Clint said to Jake and Harold.

“I’m ready,” Harold said. “Here comes more help. I’ll jump in the sidecar. You two take the truck.”

Clint looked down the road. Arnold was coming up fast on his bike. Two horses galloped behind him.

“All right.” Clint turned to Jake. “Let’s go!”

Clint and Jake ran to Jake’s truck. By the time they got in, started it, and made it out to the road, they were behind Arnold and Harold. Harold moved a particularly large case out of the way in order to make room for him in the side car. He held it next to him now as they sped on the gravel road.

“Tilley’s patrol isn’t as bad as you made them out to be,” Clint said bouncing on Jake’s passenger seat.

“Then why haven’t they arrived on the scene yet?” Jake swerved to avoid a pothole. “They’ve had more than enough time. I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned tail and split.”

“They flat-out told us they weren’t going to assist,” Clint said. “Until they learned it might be the savages gang. Then they rushed right in. You know how soldiers are. Maybe they’re assessing the tactical situation first, and carefully taking up positions.”

“They’re worthless. Like the government always has been. First they rob you of everything, and then vanish when you need help.”

“Now don’t start sounding like the old you again. Things have been going so well for us here. Although, I admit I was surprised by their initial reluctance to respond. Seems like they only got interested when they discovered it might be a high-profile case. Maybe they resent citizens forming private militia groups.”

“Or maybe they just want the glory of being the ones who get Bonnie and Clyde.” Jake hit the brakes hard.

Clint put his hand on the dash to keep from flying into the windshield.

“Sorry, bro. I wasn’t expecting this turn.”

Jake had suddenly slowed to keep following Arnold, who abruptly turned through a break in the fence line. They were now off-roading towards the hilltop adjacent to the Stuart property.

“Looks like Arnold wants the high ground,” Clint said. “I like that idea. Wonder what’s in the case.”

“Guess we’ll find out in a minute.”

The two horses passed Jake’s truck going up the hill and eventually passed Arnold as well. Cal and Randal continued a short ways beyond.

Arnold stopped in the middle of the hilltop, on this side of the crest. Jake parked next to him. Clint and Jake hopped out of the truck. Harold and Arnold opened the case in the side car and lifted a gun out.

A big gun.

“What the heck is that?” Clint asked.

Harold answered: “50 BMG.”

“A freaking anti-tank gun or something?”

“Not quite.”

Clint watched Arnold quickly attach a tripod and then pop a magazine into the massive 50-caliber semi-automatic weapon. The muzzle resembled that of a tank, and the scope attached to it was wider than the barrel. The thing looked like a sniper rifle for elephants. It made the 25-06 rifles that Clint and Jake brought feel about as useful as the bow and arrow Clint wielded at the last Stuart house alarm. Harold, at least, held a scoped .308.

“The house is less than 500 yards from the hilltop?” Arnold asked.

“Yes,” Clint said. “Less than 400.”

“Shooting gallery, then. Let’s take up positions.”

Clint watched Arnold and Harold cautiously work their way over the crest. He and Jake came over a short ways to the right of them. A hundred yards south, they could now also see Randal and Cal on this side.

Gunshots drew Clint’s attention to the Stuart house below. The front and back yards were full of unwanted visitors. At least nine. Their motorcycles were behind the house, out of sight from the road. So was a green SUV.

At least two of them were fooling around at the barn door. Several also stood on the side of the barn. Two were up against the rear of the house on either side of an open window. One held what looked to be a shotgun. Shattered glass appeared to be on the ground around it.

Several more were in the front yard. Those had pistols in their hands and kept glancing between the road and the front windows. One of them suddenly fired several rounds through a window.

“Where are those damn soldiers?” Clint asked.

“Told you.” Jake held his rifle up and began drawing a bead on some target or another. “We’ll have to handle this ourselves.”

A blast then came from inside the house, out the rear window. As soon as it did, the two surrounding that window stepped back and fired through it; one with the shotgun and one with a pistol.

Shots then erupted from Clint’s left on the hillside. He turned. They came from Cal and Randal’s position.

Several of the invaders in the backyard noticed. They turned, looked up, and two of them wasted pistol rounds in futile return fire. No one on either side was hit.

That didn’t last. Rapid assault-rifle fire suddenly erupted from behind tree structure two hundred yards to the rear of the house.

“There they are!” Clint said. “Tilley’s patrol!”

Jake only sneered.

The bad guys in the back yard scrambled. One of them limped noticeably. Unfortunately, there was plenty of cover for them to take. One ducked behind a tractor, one behind a shed, and one behind an old rusty refrigerator.

One made the mistake of running for his bike. He grabbed it, managed to wheel it to the front side of the SUV, got on, and kick started it.

A particularly loud gunshot suddenly rang from Clint’s left. Two seconds later, the teardrop gas tank spun away from the running motorcycle in front of the SUV. It ended up twenty yards away from it. The would-be rider stared down at his busted bike for a few seconds before dismounting, dropping it, and running towards the base of the hill.

“Damn,” Jake said. “I almost had a bead on him. He’s smart.”

“We’ll never hit them from this range,” Clint said. “We should move down.”

“All right, brother. After you.”

The gunfight picked up momentum as Clint and Jake made their way downhill. Tilley’s patrol exchanged fire with the backyard invaders, both sides shooting from behind cover. The three in front of the house seemed to suddenly sense an increased urgency to the situation. They all approached one of the windows, and looked as though they intended to break through to the interior—perhaps intending to take hostages.

Meanwhile, one of the backyard invaders started doing something strange. He had gotten ahold of the gas tank that Arnold shot away from the bike. Lying on the ground, he removed the bandana from his head, stuffed it through the sizable bullet hole in the tank, and lit it on fire. He then crawled to the open window again and, quite gently, dropped the gas tank candle through to the inside.

“I hope Greg sees that!” Clint said.

The fire bomber then ran hunched over away from the rear window. He didn’t make it far. A spray of bullets from the trees behind the house caught him and threw him backwards, straightening him. He lay flat and stopped moving.

“Somebody did,” Jake said. “We need to be careful, brother. Remember, one’s on the hill.”

“Hey!” a voice behind them said. Clint’s heart was in his throat before he realized it was Harold, come up behind them.

Harold pointed down. “We need to take care of those guys in front, before they go in the window.”

“That’s what we were thinking,” Jake said. “Can you get them from here?”

“I think so. Let’s all focus on the closest one on the porch, okay?”

Clint looked across the 320-yard distance and reluctantly agreed. He knew he wasn’t close enough for an effective shot—but Harold might be.

Clint and Jake began firing at the target. They didn’t take a particularly long time to aim, since they had no scopes. Occasionally a wood chip flew from one of Clint’s shots which helped his aim with the next one.

The three on the porch responded by aiming their pistols up the hill and firing. That’s when Harold got his first shot off. The target closest to the window dropped. The other two then took partial cover behind the wooden porch posts.

A loud boom echoed from the rear of the house. Smoke and flames surged out the rear window. The gas tank had exploded and the back room was now burning. The sound of it corresponded with a resumed intensity in the backyard gunfight. Randal and Cal now provided crossfire from the hilltop for Tilley’s patrol on the ground. The invaders haphazardly returned fire in both directions.

That’s when Clint saw him: one man calmly walking from the barn to the SUV, not bothering to run or duck from the bullets whizzing all around him. He was of a muscular build, had dark hair, and appeared well-groomed except for a scraggly goatee.

“Harold,” Clint said.

Harold already had his eye in the scope. “I see him.”

Harold, Clint and Jake all fired at the arrogant stroller. Harold’s shots were slow and well-aimed. But the guy just kept walking.

“There’s something spooky about that one,” Harold said. “Like he has some kind of deflector shield about him.”

The calm one reached the SUV, opened the driver’s side door, and retrieved a rifle with a scope. He stepped behind the engine compartment, placed his elbows on the hood, and aimed the rifle up the hill—towards Harold, Clint and Jake.

“Get down!” Harold said.

The three of them dropped as a bullet cracked above their heads and then ricocheted off a rock.

The sudden sound of Arnold’s 50 BMG rocked the ground Clint was lying on. Two seconds later, the shooter on the SUV hood was separated from his rifle.

That wasn’t the only thing he was separated from. The 50-caliber round divided the target spectacularly. The rifle ended up on the ground on front side of the SUV. The shooter— what was left of him, anyway—lay ten yards behind the vehicle. The only thing still on the hood was his arm.

Two others now ran from the barn to the SUV. Only one of them made it. That one got in the driver’s side, started the car, and peeled out. As he came by the front porch the two who were there ran out alongside it, using it for cover.

That’s when Arnold went ballistic. He fired round after round at the fleeing vehicle. Clint watched the recoil of Arnold’s monster weapon obediently absorb in his upper body muscles.

Shells went through metal, through glass, through the engine compartment, through tire and wheel. The vehicle didn’t make it off the property. Smoking and fishtailing, it ended up on its side. The two who ran with it were now exposed again. They kept running, apparently choosing to make their escape on foot. And they would have, too, if they didn’t run smack into assault rifle fire from the road. Their end was quick.

Two soldiers rose from the trench on the opposite side of the road and now made their way on to the property via the driveway, no longer bothering to take cover. One of them fired a round into the sideways SUV through the windshield. Just one round.

Clint looked to the backyard. Soldiers were now in plain sight there, too, advancing. The remaining invaders broke from their cover and retreated. None of them made it far.

Greg Stuart came out the front door with his wife and two kids, followed by billows of smoke. Both his children coughed. Greg kept his shotgun at the ready. Fortunately, no targets remained.

“I think it’s over,” Clint said. He looked back and forth between Jake and Harold.

A sudden shot came from below them on the hill, quickly followed by another. Two bullets struck the ground between Clint and Jake.

Clint saw the source. The one on the hill had climbed up. He was now less than fifty yards away, running straight for them with his pistol hand extended.

A round fired from Jake’s rifle. The attacker fell and rolled halfway back down the hill. Then he lay still. Jake lowered the gun.

“Now it’s over,” Jake said. “I warned you not to forget about that guy.”

Ten minutes later, Clint stood in the front yard with Jake, Harold, Arnold, Cal, Randal, and three other neighbors who responded late. The Stuart family was with them, all of them in tears hanging onto one another. The house was now fully ablaze. The members of Tilley’s patrol stood at the side of the barn, too close to the heat for Clint. Sergeant Robinson talked into a handheld radio.