“All right, let’s go!”
The two of themselves sat there in position, waiting for the gang to pull up. Once they got an open shot at several of them at the door, they’d start firing. But they needed to be careful. If Lazenby was off, he could hit Hatfield. Anything else could seriously endanger things as well. It was a risky plan, with no plan B.
The gang approached the door, drawing closer. They were now ten feet away, then five.
Not quite there…
One of the gangbangers gazed into the doorway, his face frozen into an odd look. Not the one Hatfield was looking for. “What a minute…” the gangbanger called. “What the hell’s that backpack doing there—”
A bad sign, but it was too late to turn back. So Hatfield yelled, “Go! Now!”
The two of them fired away, getting a few of them to drop in the doorway. A third managed to squeeze through and into the hallway, getting riddled with bullets as he staggered into the kitchen.
Hatfield turned his rifle around and clubbed him with the butt at the back of his head, sending him clattering to the ground. With no more open shots of any of them at the doorway, it was time to shut the door, but he could now see several of them scampering away. He couldn’t resist taking one more series of shots, so he lifted a hand, gestured for Lazenby to stop firing, and stepped out into the doorway, easing out slightly. He fired a few times, connecting two or three times—but he got something unexpected: someone was waiting for him, hiding at the side of the door, shoving a knife toward his head. He jerked back, catching a glancing blow at his jaw and grabbing the guy’s arm and tugging him back into the doorway.
The two of them grappled one on one, the gangbanger shoving Hatfield’s face to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lazenby aiming his rifle, probably unable to get a clean shot that would only hit the gangbanger.
They grappled more, with Hatfield losing the grip on his rifle, then the handgun on his waist. He reached down with all his strength and grabbed the back of his opponent’s head, yanking it hard against the concrete floor until his forehead met hardwood. His body then dropped, motionless.
With the door slammed shut, he jumped to his feet and raced down a dark hallway, with Lazenby following behind. “Jade?”
He heard nothing, then called again. And again. Finally, a whimper leaked from behind a door, her words smothered by tears. He pulled the door open and saw her clutching her kids, all three of them shaking, eyes uneasy. “Yes. I’m here. We made it, didn’t we?”
“Yes, you did.” From behind, Lazenby passed her three jars of food. “The three of you held up very well. From now on, you should be fine as long as you keep that door shut.”
Jade wiped her eyes dry and cleared her throat. “Don’t worry. This place will be sealed tight as long as there is danger out there.”
“We’ll be back when we can. I promise.”
She nodded, then pulled herself out of the closet and led the two men to her front door. “You two have no idea how helpful you’ve been to us. We can’t thank you enough.”
“You guys, take care.” He looked to the kids. “Don’t let your mother work too hard.”
The kids managed grins. “Yes, sir. We won’t,” they both said.
Hatfield and Lazenby headed away, rifles strapped and heads on swivels, checking for any dangers on the horizon.
26
Hours after running from the gunshots from the bunker, the baleful stare on Nathan’s face remained. Everybody else was in a playful mood. In the time following the bunker incident, they’d knocked over a convenience store and didn’t even have to fire a single shot. Simply walking in, brandishing flame throwers was enough to get the owner to put down his shotgun and surrender.
They now had plenty of food, good food, stuff they all enjoyed. No more need to humiliate themselves at the compound on a daily basis—at least for a while. But still, Nathan was unsatisfied. Something felt wrong, incomplete.
From behind, he heard a voice. “Check it out, boss!” Zan held up a portable propane stove. “We can cook now! All we had to do was pull those flame throwers out. Amazing, huh?”
His boss said nothing. “Sons of bitches!” he spat. “Shooting at us and we run like a bunch of rats.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about! You were there! They started shooting at us, and what do we do? We took off like rats deserting a sinking ship!”
“Look, that’s old news now! We don’t even have to think about those guys anymore.”
Still, Nathan glowered.
Zan ignored him and set the stove up. “You know how to work this?” he asked the leader.
His boss sighed, turned to look for the three homesteaders, then waved them over. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the stove. “Dinner, for everybody! Get to it!”
The three of them started cooking, not bothering with questions. They just dove directly into the meal.
“Ordering people around must be pretty fun, huh?” Zan asked him.
Nathan said nothing. Instead, his eyes locked on the three cooks as they busied themselves with pots and pans. Something about Zan’s questions caused it to echo in his head for a while. Ordering people around was pretty fun. But it was more than that. It was a brilliant idea. And it was the way they were going to get some much-needed payback.
HATFIELD AND LAZENBY walked slowly toward the compound to see a strange sight. The place was surrounded, gangbangers aiming flame throwers at the homesteaders who stood there, hands held high. “What the hell’s going on?” Lazenby asked.
“Looks like we just missed something. Come on!”
They raced to the gate to find Cecil in the midst of saying something. They didn’t catch his words, but his face told them all the story they needed. There was no fight. Only a surrender.
“They got, Hatfield.”
Their leader turned, his small face split by a grin. He aimed a rifle at the two new arrivals. “Well, looks like you two got here and missed all the fun. Not that you could have changed the outcome anyway. Now, why don’t you join the party and put those hands where we can see them.”
With reluctance, Hatfield and Lazenby complied.
The leader went on. “Luckily for you, I decided you were worth more to me alive than dead. You see, alive, you can serve me, run this place and take care of everything so we don’t have to figure out anything. That way, we don’t have to rely on your runaway friends for help. Now get inside and get to work. And trust me, there will be way more work to follow in the future—for all of you.” He buckled into laughter as all the homesteaders stepped inside, their faces hanging in defeat.
Hatfield sidled up to the captain on his way inside. “I wish we could have gotten back sooner. And maybe we could have—”
Cecil shook his head. “Wouldn’t have made a difference. With all that weaponry, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. If it were just us, I’d say let’s fight to the death, but with women and children involved… well, that changes the priorities.”
Hatfield nodded.
“We might as well just do as they say. Don’t try to get cute. The last thing we need is to lose more men out of foolish pride. Better alive to make sure these monsters don’t get too out of control than dead.”
“I’m with you all the way.” But inside, Hatfield was looking for a plan B, watching these men closely, and hoping he could find a crack in the armor, something that could give the homesteaders the freedom they’d enjoyed less than an hour earlier.
BY THE TIME Hatfield had woken up the next morning, the realization of the homesteaders’ capture had taken hold. The bell woke his family up before sunrise, with his kids reaching immediately for a supporting clutch seconds later.