Gregory ran off.
“The rest of you kids keep filling up those sandbags and pack them as tight as you can. Tim, take one of the ARs and keep an eye on that road. Blow your whistle if you see anyone approaching.”
Kay and Diane entered just then and John filled them in on what was happening. “I’ll need help from both of you with setting up these last firing positions.”
Over the next few tense minutes, John pulled the kitchen table into the middle of the main room and stacked as much ammo as he could fit. From there, he placed four magazines filled with 5.56 green-tip rounds by the southern loophole for the AR. He then placed boxes of .30-06 ammo for deer rifles by the eastern and western loopholes and three other AR mags at the northern one. The shotgun loaded with double-ought buck and slugs would be kept in reserve in case anyone tried to breach the cabin door.
When they were done, everyone was on sandbag duty, except for Tim and Brandon who kept lookout.
They only managed to fill and move half the sandbags before everyone heard two short blasts from Tim’s whistle.
In a matter of seconds, they had all retreated to the cabin. This would be their Alamo. John just hoped the end result would turn out differently for them than it had for Davy Crockett.
The sound of the shotgun tripwire going off was the first sign that someone coming up the trail had tried to move off into the forest. Then came another blast and the screams of men in pain. More than one and John grabbed a notepad and etched two lines to mark down how many enemies were out of action.
John and Gregory took the southern loophole overlooking the gravel path. Kay and Diane took the eastern in case the attackers tried flanking the cabin. At the western loophole were Brandon and Emma while Tim and Natalie covered the south. They’d only managed to fill enough sandbags for three of the four positions. That meant the southern loophole was relatively unprotected, except for the cabin’s sixteen-inch log walls.
A voice shouted out at them from just beyond view. “I know you’re in there, John.”
Hearing it erased all the doubts in John’s mind. It was Cain and he’d returned to settle the score.
“Your friend Bill Kelsaw was very helpful in divulging your location once we provided the proper incentives.”
Cain thought he was being cute, but John couldn’t help but imagine poor Bill tied up, being slowly tortured to reveal what he knew. The image, even if it wasn’t real, made him all the more determined.
“I don’t have a beef with anyone other than you, John,” Cain shouted. “Come out and give yourself up and I’ll let your family live. You’ve got my word on that.” He paused and spat on the ground. “You also have three minutes to decide.”
John turned to find everyone in the cabin looking at him, each with a different expression. Acute fear on his children’s faces. Confusion and curiosity on Tim’s face as he wondered whether John would comply. For a moment John wondered the same thing himself. What if Cain was telling the truth? Was a gun battle worth risking the lives of his family? What if he could trade his life for theirs? Let Cain settle the score and be done with it.
Then John spotted the stubborn scowl on Diane’s face he’d seen so many times throughout their marriage.
“The rat’s lying through his teeth,” she growled. “And you know it.”
She was right. He did.
“Cain’s lied, manipulated and tried to terrorize us from the first second we met him.”
“Don’t do it, Dad,” Gregory said tearfully.
“If I don’t go out there, they’ll attack us for sure,” John said. “Some of you might get hurt or killed.”
Tim came over and put a hand on John’s shoulder. “Let the bastards try.”
Chapter 44
The three minutes came and went. Finally Cain called out from somewhere beyond view. “So what’s your answer, John?”
“Show yourself and find out, you coward,” John shouted through the loophole.
Through the narrow opening in the cabin wall, he spotted men scurrying up the path.
John slowed his breathing, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The cabin exploded with deafening sound as John fired at the approaching men. Shooting a man in real life wasn’t like in those fancy Hollywood movies. They didn’t fly ten feet back. A man hit by a high-caliber bullet usually fell where he stood. Nothing dramatic, nothing fancy. That was what happened to the first two John hit. They dropped to the ground and stopped moving. More came up behind them, firing wildly as they made their way forward.
Rounds struck the cabin wall, the larger ones passing through and rattling a row of pans hanging in the kitchen.
John emptied his magazine, released it, popped in another and continued firing. A handful of Cain’s men were circling around to John’s right.
“You got a few coming your way,” he called to Diane who was covering the eastern section with a deer rifle. She fired and then worked the bolt before firing again. Bullets slammed through the cabin, thudding into the sandbags.
There were still men firing at them from the tree line. It appeared as though the booby-traps they’d set had taken out a few of Cain’s thugs, but others pushed on and settled at the forest’s edge. They were preparing to open up with AK-47s when John peppered their position. Dirt and leaves kicked in the air as rounds landed all about them. One of the men was struck through the eye and slumped forward. The other pushed himself back and out of view.
Out came another empty magazine. Behind him, Gregory was crouched low to the ground, pulling 5.56 rounds out of the box and feeding them into the empty polymer mags. This was the benefit of having four positions manned by two people each. If one was hit, there was an immediate replacement and in the meantime, the backup could keep a supply of fresh mags coming.
Course, they couldn’t go on shooting indefinitely. At some point they would run out, which was why John was trying to conserve as much as he could.
“How many on your end Diane?” John called out.
“I hit three, but two others were moving too fast. Tim should see them any second.”
“Got ’em,” Tim replied as he opened fire.
He burned through a mag in a matter of seconds.
“Make every shot count, Tim,” John shouted over the barrage. “We could be here all night.”
Then John caught a terrifying sight. Two of Cain’s men were in the open, lighting Molotov cocktails and preparing to throw them at the cabin. If they succeeded, it would quickly be the end of everyone inside. The place would go up like a tinder box.
John peered through his ACOG Scope and laid off three quick rounds. Except he wasn’t aiming for the men, he was aiming for the Molotov cocktail. A second later, the sound of shattering glass was followed by the two men screaming as the bottle exploded and doused them in flames.
More shots continued to ring out from each of the loopholes as Cain’s men tried to surround the cabin, searching for a weak point in their defenses.
John was in the process of loading a fresh mag when the sound of bullets slamming through the southern wall made him turn. Tim slumped forward. Without enough sandbags, a round had passed through the cabin wall and hit him.
Kay screamed and moved to grab hold of her husband.
“Take my rifle,” Diane told her. “And keep firing.”
Diane had the most medical knowledge of anyone there and it only made sense for her to be the one to assess Tim’s wounds.
For her part, Natalie took hold of her father’s AR and continued to return fire.
Grabbing Tim by the shirt, Diane pulled him flat on his back and out of harm’s way. She then rifled through his clothes, searching for the entry wound. “Where’re you hit?”