Michael Langlois - Bad Radio

“There’s two of ‘em. Looks like they acquired a police car, which explains how they got here so fast. No sleep and no speed limit changes the game.”

Anne gaped. “They have a police car?”

“I’m thinking that they were flying low in whatever car they had, half for the speed and half for bait. As soon a cop showed up, they probably killed him and took his car.”

“Wait,” said Leon. “If they took his car, then maybe help is already on the way. A lot of patrol cars have GPS locators built into them.”

“I hope so,” I said. “But I’m not holding my breath. My guess is that if the state could have tracked that car, they would have already stopped them with a roadblock before they got here. We have to assume that nobody is coming.” There was a crash from the house. They had broken down the front door. “Anybody in here armed?”

“Our shit’s in the truck,” said Leon. “Did you see their gear?”

“One has a shotgun, likely it came with the car, so that would make it a 12 gauge pump. The other one has a pistol, looks like a Glock. I’d guess that came from the cop as well. Henry, what do you have for us out here?”

Henry grinned and flipped open the second, larger box that he had brought to the table. Several revolvers and two boxes of bullets rested on a layer of small, brown-stained cotton bags. Several fist-sized cloth bags and coils of dull silver metal were stacked against one end.

He began passing out guns. “.357s for the gentlemen,” he said, handing the heavy stainless steel weapons to Leon and Carlos, and setting one on the table for himself. He looked at me, and I shook my head. He nodded, having expected that. “And a.38 for the lady,” handing her one of a pair of.38s. “Everyone is already loaded with hollow point rounds, and there’s more ammo in the box. Put some in your pockets. Sorry, but I don’t have any speed loaders.”

Carlos flipped his cylinder shut with a solid clack and looked at me. “What about you? Can’t shoot?”

“I’ll be good with this.” I patted the steel baton on my hip.

“Shit, man. You can’t bring a stick to a gunfight, you know? You need to pick up a piece.”

“Why should I worry? I’ve got two jarheads to handle these guys, right?”

“Lucky for you.”

I smiled at him. Bags are shit with guns, the worms make them shake and tremble when they get excited. They’re also psychotically aggressive and fast as hell, which means they can and will get in close. And they always carry something sharp.

Everyone jumped at the sound of glass breaking. A dull thump followed. The bags had thrown something heavy out of a window. They knew the piece was around here somewhere, they could probably sense it, but they weren’t sure exactly where. Good thing our side was a little more precise.

“Anne, where are they?”

She answered instantly. “Back of the house, in Henry’s bedroom.”

Carlos snorted. “What are you, Miss Cleo?”

Leon glanced at Henry, who nodded. “Tell me when they head this way.”

“Got it.”

“Henry,” I said, “give me the altar piece.” He handed it to me, and I loosened my belt and tucked it against my lower back, with the spines pointing outward. I snugged the belt tight between the two spines, strapping it to me. It was cold and unpleasant as hell, but those fuckers already had my piece and Patrick’s. I wasn’t losing this one.

Another crash from the house. Carlos went to the door.

“Okay, I think me and Leon should surprise them while they’re busy in the house. Take ‘em out before they know we’re here. You folks stay put.”

Leon trotted up and put his back against the wall, gun pointed at the ceiling. Carlos stood in front of the door and flexed his fingers on the grip of his pistol. He whispered to Leon.

“On three, I’ll go right, you go left. Ready?” Leon nodded and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Carlos put one hand on the knob. “One.”

The door flew open, and Carlos was yanked out of the doorway and into the yard. I moved a split second before Leon, letting me hit him in the legs as he was pivoting into the doorway to pursue. A shotgun boomed as we connected, and Leon was thrown back over my shoulder as I hit the ground.

I caught a glimpse of Carlos dangling by the neck from the hand of the bigger baitbag as I slapped the door shut from the floor, but it just bounced right back open.

Carlos’s eyes were a vivid, horrifying red and he was drooling blood from the sudden increase in pressure as his neck was crushed.

I scrambled to my feet. Leon was already sitting up, his gun pointed squarely through the doorway. The bag was long gone, leaving Carlos in a twisted heap on the grass.

I crept forward and looked left and right out of the doorway. Nothing. I quickly yanked the door closed to prevent them from being able to target us from outside, and went to check on Leon.

He was bleeding from the shoulder and the side of his head. The blood was black on his BDU’s. I knelt by his side and inspected the wounds. It looked like he had taken the edge of the blast, with a few pellets tearing through his ear and cheek, and a few more lodging in his shoulder. Two inches over, and he’d be missing half of his head. His eyes never moved from the door, and his hands were rock steady. “Leon, you okay?”

“Carlos is dead.”

“I know.”

“That motherfucker just yanked him off his feet. Just like that. Crushed his neck like a beer can.”

“Those men aren’t like regular people …”

“I know what a baitbag is, I’ve heard the stories all my life from my uncle.” He grunted and stood up. “I heard, but I didn’t understand.”

I stood up with him and pulled the heavy baton from its sheath. It came free with a loud scraping sound. “Anne! What happened to my warning?”

“He wasn’t there before the door opened! I swear, just in the house!”

“How many in the house?” I knew better, but I couldn’t keep from asking, the same as I had done to Patrick time and again.

“How do I fucking know? You smell cookies baking in the kitchen, do you know how many are in there? I’m getting something from the house and the yard now, but a second ago, it was only from the house.”

“Bags don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“You’re the goddamn expert, you tell me.”

Henry said, “Looks like they can hide themselves somehow.”

I grimaced. There’s no such thing as a good surprise in a fight. “That’s new.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t recall us ever coming across one trying to sneak around.”

“Shit.”

“Hey Abe,” said Anne, “they’re both outside now, moving around.” The sound of a trunk slamming made everyone look at the door. Ten long seconds passed. “Guys? Is it just my nose, or can everyone else smell gas?”

That’s the great thing about life, it’s never so bad that it can’t get worse.

Leon sniffed the air. “They can’t burn us out. This building is made of sheet metal. It won’t burn.”

The door crashed open, propelled by the foot of the massive bag that killed Carlos. Instead of a shotgun, his hands now held a red plastic milk crate full of clear glass bottles. The bottles were full of a pale pink liquid. Gasoline.

He heaved the crate, but held onto it, launching the bottles through the door. They shattered on the concrete floor, spraying everything between us and the door with fuel and shards of glass.

A split second after launching the crate, he moved to the side to allow the man behind him to step up holding a single bottle in his hand. The bottle had a burning rag stuffed in the top, the flames barely visible in the strong sunlight. The larger man was already picking up a second crate.