Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Like maybe we have a few reasonably experienced hunters waiting for the next batch of fresh meat to come walking in.”

“An ambush?”

“There’s something going on here and they’re keeping out of any visual tracking. I don’t like the absence. I’ll give you about ten minutes of searching. After that, we’re gone.”

“Okay.” She entered the walk-in closet and began reviewing its meager contents. “Hey, Mac? I think this house might have some surprises.”

He walked toward Amanda, but continued his surveillance on the house across the street. “Nah. I think this place is trashed. I don’t think there’s squat here, but explain your reasoning.”

“Well, there are lots of fancy built-ins downstairs, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“The den or library or whatever it was had tons of little cubby-holes. And those two deer heads. And the moldy Field & Stream’s. Not to mention that there was a bird-dog painting in the corner and—”

“What’s your point, Snuff?”

“The guy who lived here liked his hiding places and he was a hunter.”

Connor recognized the glint of excitement in her eyes. He entered the huge closet, inspecting the area, considering Amanda’s argument. He peered out the small window set above a window seat for ease in dressing.

“Okay, so he was a hunter. Sure, he had a beautiful gun cabinet right there, but it’s busted and cleaned out. You ready?”

“Not just yet, Mac.” There was nothing on the wall to her left, but she continued to stare at it, deep in thought for a minute.

“Snuff? Come on,” whispered Mac.

Amanda re-entered the bedroom, spun toward the closet, and compared the depths of the wall. “Wow!”

“Snuff, be quiet!”

“I found it, Mac,” she whispered. “I fucking found it!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I knew he had a cubby-hole in here. Come on—help me figure it out.”

“Show me what you discovered.”

“You see this wall? The depth? There’s something inside there, I know it.” The closet was eight feet wide and about ten feet deep. One wall of the closet was located about two feet from the hall. Yet, the hall only widened about one foot beyond the master bedroom doorway. There was an area approximately one foot by ten feet unaccounted for.

They felt around the wall in the closet and, upon closer inspection, they discovered a fine line, nearly undetectable, in the drywall. The line ran vertically from the floor to the ceiling, three feet from the doorframe. Amanda inspected the doorjamb adjoining the wall, but there was nothing to suggest a button or any hidden release.

“It’s just a drywall crack, Snuff. Let’s go.”

She found it difficult to hide her disappointment. “Yeah, I guess we better go,” she said. She turned and, as she did, she noticed a small brown notch on the other side of the doorjamb. She reached up and felt a small lever. She pushed the lever with her index finger and heard a soft click behind her. Connor tensed at the sound as if a grenade had exploded.

“Gotcha!” Despite whispering, Amanda’s excitement bubbled to the surface. The vertical line in the drywall was now split—one side was raised while the other hadn’t moved. “I get first dibs.” Thrilled, she pulled open the panel.

“Of course, but let’s make it quick. We need to go.”

The hidden compartment was quite large and they were momentarily overcome with awe about what was inside. Numerous rifles were lined up vertically in neat slots of a beautifully carved gun rack. There was a large shelf above and two wide drawers below the hidden gun rack. There were thick stacks of one hundred dollar bills and other papers on the shelf—their only value now was if you needed them to start a fire. There were four one-ounce Golden Eagle coins in individual holders placed atop the money stacks to keep them in place. Amanda quickly grabbed all four and handed two to Connor. They both barely smiled at this useful discovery, so focused were they on the remainder of the cabinet contents. They slipped the coins into their front pockets and Connor nodded for Amanda to continue.

She reached into the cabinet, removing a scoped rifle. The extensive filigree etching and a dusty black walnut stock begged to be touched. She felt the silky smoothness of the stock and the light dust fell away easily. “It’s beautiful.”

“It better be. Let me see it, Snuff.” She handed it to him carefully and he held it up toward the window. “That’s a Bennelli. What a beautiful weapon. It probably set this guy back about $5000. Maybe more.” He handed the Bennelli back to Amanda and inspected the remaining guns. “Check this out.”

Connor removed a Weatherby shotgun that was more beautiful than the Bennelli, at least to him it was. He noticed the smooth finish of the stock. These guns, each one, represented excellent treatment and care. “This guy knew his guns. This thing is beautiful.”

“I guess you found your shotgun, Mac.”

“No, this is an old over/under two-shot. I need something with a bit more—yes, there it is!” He withdrew the shiniest weapon from the cabinet. It was also the ugliest by far. Amanda recognized it as a shotgun by its large bore.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s loaded,” said Connor. He cracked open the barrel and confirmed the shotgun shell in the breach. “It’s probably the only weapon in here that’s loaded.”

“So?”

“Snuff, this guy knew his weapons. He selected only the best to store in here. The rest, over there in that gun cabinet were probably junk.”

“Yeah?”

Amanda pulled out another shotgun, a Beretta, turning it over in her hands. Immediately, she felt an extra attachment to this shotgun. It too, was an over/under like the Weatherby, but had a weight and touch that fit perfectly. Impulsively, she decided to keep it. That is, if there was some way to carry it as a secondary weapon, since it had no shoulder strap.

“Snuff, you’re a fuckin’ miracle worker. I can’t believe you found this. I just can’t believe it. I knew you were a serious good luck charm but—”

“What’s so damn special about that one? Is it stainless steel or something? It’s kinda ugly, don’t you think?”

Connor jacked the slide and confirmed that a three-inch magnum buckshot shell was already in the chamber. Additional inspection established it was fully loaded.

“This, sweetheart, is a Remington 870-Marine Magnum. It’s affectionately known as a utility weapon or a deck sweeper. This guy obviously used it as the primary choice for home defense—that’s why it’s fully loaded. But, more important, it’s the perfect weapon for today’s in-close combat conditions. Absolutely fuckin’ perfect. See? It stores six rounds and one in the pipe. Look at this, he set up storage on the stock. Nice.” He grabbed her, spun her around once and gave her a long, sharp kiss.

“Well, Happy New Year, Mac.”

He let her go and dropped to a knee in front of the cabinet drawer. To his delight, he found six boxes of twelve-gauge shells among the ammunition for the other guns. There were four boxes of magnum buckshot loads. He placed fourteen buckshot shells in his front pockets and stashed the balance in his pack. He barely noticed the additional weight in his excitement, but a feeling of dread quickly assaulted his good mood. “We need to get the fuck out of here, now. Grab what you want, lock and load, and let’s move!”

He shifted his M-4 into a comfortable carrying position across his back and carried the shotgun as his primary weapon. Amanda sensed his urgency and grabbed four boxes of ten-gauge shells for the Beretta. She fully loaded the weapon and put the rest in her pack.