The mudroom fusillade continued as Alex checked the kitchen island corner and confirmed that he was screened from the mudroom doorway by the refrigerator. He edged along the stainless-steel appliance, plotting his next move. He could stick his rifle past the refrigerator and blast away, hoping that the shock of the unexpected, close-up blasts sparked a panicked retreat, but then what? Charge into the mudroom? He had no idea how many men waited for him. As the scarlet smoke intensified, he decided to wait for the marines—if the enormous detonation he’d heard a few minutes ago hadn’t taken them out of the picture. He just hoped Kate and the Walkers stayed in the safe box. A dark cylindrical object arced past the refrigerator, on a trajectory that flushed his decision down the proverbial toilet.
If the grenade landed in the safe box, Kate and Ed’s family would panic, jumping right into the sights of several militia guns. Alex lurched past the refrigerator, pressing the trigger twice before slamming into the pantry shelves. Dropping to the floor, he aimed up at the right side of the doorway and fired at a dark red mass behind a protruding barrel. A foot stepped into the kitchen, and Alex shifted his rifle left, firing again into the opaque cloud. Confused voices and jumbled commands quickly turned into return fire. Alex felt a bullet connect with his upper right chest, knocking him flat on his back. Another grazed his left thigh. He brought the mangled HK416 over his chest and fired the rest of his magazine into the smoke.
Chapter 41
EVENT +75:33
Limerick, Maine
Jeffrey Brown crouched at the tree line, ready to sprint to the house, when his radio crackled.
“Brown, we can’t break through the mudroom. Request permission to withdraw,” said a coughing voice over heavy gunfire.
Thick plumes of red smoke billowed out of the mudroom door, hitting the porch ceiling and dispersing over the roof into the stark blue sky. The idiots weren’t supposed to pull the pin on the smoke grenade.
“I’m on my way. How many men do you have left that can fight?”
“Two, including myself.”
“Copy. Pull back. Head north for the secondary extraction point,” he said and pressed the alternate frequency button. “Liberty Actual, this is Liberty Three, the breach failed. Heading to secondary extract.”
“Liberty Actual copies. Get as many out as you can. Pick up the thirty-cal on your way out. It’s in the trees directly across from the leftmost, ground-floor window.”
“Copy. I’m moving.”
Two men stumbled down the porch stairs, coughing as they stopped to pick up their wounded squad mate. Brown stepped into the tall grass beyond the trees, but the sound of diesel engines stopped him. He dropped into the brush and crawled back to the trees as a dark blur crashed through the metallic gate fifty feet to his right. Two angular gray tactical vehicles burst into the clearing and raced toward the house. Brown crawled faster as the turret-mounted machine guns chattered in tandem, trading off deadly bursts that killed the last of his men.
Punching through the foliage, he risked a glance back at the house. Marines dismounted from both vehicles, firing single shots into the corpses lying on the gravel. One of the vehicles backed up and drove across the front of the house, heading toward the barn. He swung his scoped AR-10 toward the clearing, wanting desperately to take a shot, but there was no point. Killing one of them was a death sentence, even if he targeted the turret gunners.
The former ranger slowly eased his way deeper into the forest. He should be dead with his men, but his choice of rifles bizarrely kept him alive. With Daniel Boone and that crazy-looking bitch raining accurate fire down on his men, the .308 caliber AR-10 quickly became their golden ticket to cross open ground. He’d survived for a reason—which started to crystalize as he reached a safe distance from the clearing.
Chapter 42
EVENT +75:34
Limerick, Maine
A low-pitched roar competed with the high, ringing tone in his ears, breaking the relative silence that had descended on the mudroom for several seconds. Alex flinched when long, tightly spaced bursts of automatic fire erupted in front of the house. He pulled a fresh magazine from one of the pouches on his vest and released the empty, which clattered on the hardwood floor. Hands trembling, he inserted the curved polymer magazine and released the bolt, ready for any militia that survived the Matvees M240s—however doubtful that might be. He lay on his back, pointing his rifle into the smoke, until he started to hear single rifle shots. It was over.
“Stay where you are! Let the marines clear the house. Ryan. Linda, acknowledge,” he rasped, crawling toward them.
Just one asshole with a trigger pull left in him could steal a life. The marines were making sure they didn’t, one bullet at a time.
“Copy. Marines clearing the house,” said Ryan.
“I need to check on Ryan!” Kate called, and he saw her head emerge from the sandbags.
“He’s fine! Stay where you are!”
Samantha Walker’s face appeared next, quickly finding Ed.
“Ed!” she screamed, climbing over the side and scrambling into the foyer.
“Everyone needs to stay—”
Kate jumped out next, running toward the stairs.
“Damn it, Kate!”
“I’m checking on Ryan!”
“I’m fine, Mom!” Ryan yelled from upstairs.
Two heads emerged from the safe box at the sound of Ryan’s voice.
“Heads down!” he barked at Chloe and Daniel Walker. “Where’s the grenade?”
“I threw it on the porch when it landed in the box,” said Samantha.
Alex leaned his head over the side of the sandbags. The Walker kids were shaking.
“Sorry about that, guys. I need you to stay in here until the house is cleared. Your dad’s hurt, but he’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I need the first aid kit!” yelled Kate.
“Throw us the first aid kit, Chloe!” screamed Samantha.
“Keep it down,” Alex hissed from the sandbag wall.
“Dad?” he whispered.
“Still ticking,” said Tim Fletcher from a hidden position in the great room.
He slid over to the basement door and put his head near one of the large holes.
“Nice shooting, Mom. Everyone all right down there?”
“We’re fine. How is my grandson?” Amy responded.
“He sounds fine. Stay put for now.”
A brown tactical-style backpack hit the floor next to him, billowing drywall powder in his face.
“Thanks.” He coughed, grabbing the pack and crawling next to Ed and Samantha.
“What are we looking at here?” he said, unzipping the bag and removing two flat, sealed packets.
“It doesn’t look good,” Samantha said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m fine, honey,” insisted Ed, squeezing her hand. “It just hurts like a motherf—”
“He sounds fine and looks fine.” Alex noticed a small pool of blood on the floor under Ed’s buttocks.
“And he’s not bleeding badly. That’s a good thing. How does your ass feel, buddy?”
“Like I sat on a nail.”