Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Good. We need to stick as a team and, if we do, we’ll stay alive.” Connor snuck a peek out the bottom windowpane of the garage’s man door. He caught no movement, but shook his head in dismay. His gut told him a huge shitstorm was brewing. He cracked the door slightly, grateful that the squeak of the hinges was barely audible. His ears perked at a faint sound, possibly a bird landing on a gutter.

“Dammit, I shoulda just said no to the sub-huntin’,” said Connor, mumbling, “Oh, make her happy, Mac. Go ahead—”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Amanda slipped a hand onto Connor’s shoulder.

“Why do you think someone’s out there, Mac?”

“Other than the tripwires and voices I heard earlier? I don’t know—probably some subtle changes in the overall sensory environment. Or maybe enough precursor cues at a subconscious level suggesting a more coordinated attack. Like I told you before, I’ve learned to trust this feeling.”

Connor stroked the barrel of his new shotgun, confirming the safety was off. Seeing his weapons check, Amanda checked her new Bennelli, confirming there were fresh shells in both chambers. Keeping busy to hide a burgeoning nervousness, she transferred ten rounds from her backpack to each front pocket, experiencing a moment of regret for entering the subdivision. “I’m sorry for bringing us here, Mac.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, Snuff. It was ultimately my call anyway. We simply need to vacate in one piece and there’ll be no harm done. But yeah, I’m feeling a building urgency to get the fuck outta here. You ready?”

“Yeah, Mac, I think so.”

He studied the new weapon in Amanda’s hands. “You already comfortable with that Bennelli?”

“Yeah, Mac, it feels like it was made for me.”

“Okay, good. But I want you to keep the Remmy as your primary for now. That’s the weapon you know and trust.”

“Okay.”

“Use it to scope those houses across the street. Mainly the one with the broken porch railing.”

“Alright,” said Amanda. She safed the weapon and forced it into her backpack side pocket sleeve. Not a great fit, but it would have to do until she found a better way to carry it. Leaning closer to the door, she poked the rifle barrel outside the door an inch to scope the houses across the street. “You want me to take out anyone I see or wait for assigned targets? Do we need a code sign?”

“Hey, slow it down some. Don’t tighten up on me too fast. Stay frosty. For now, just keep scoping those houses, okay? Especially that blue stucco.”

“Sure, Mac.”

“Now listen up, once I’m out the door and assessing our exit, blow away anyone you see with a gun. Period. You see a gun, you shoot. Select targets at will.”

“Sure, okay, whatever you say.”

“Hang tight left side of the door here while ranging those homes. Once I’m out and secured, I’ll signal for you to follow if it’s safe. Make sure to use available cover on your exit.”

“I will.”

Connor glanced at Amanda. He appreciated her effort to put on a grim, battle-ready face. He touched her arm. “Oh, and Snuff, it’s all right to be scared. A little scared is good.”

“Umm—”

“I’m out the door. Scope the houses.”

Connor exited, the marine magnum held ready. Shifting right and left in a quick scan, he moved toward a large landscape boulder twenty feet away. The garage jutted out twenty-five feet into the yard to his left and he took immediate notice of the corner edge, since it was an optimal close range offensive. That is, until he sensed movement above and behind him on the roof. Instinctively, he spun, firing twice almost blindly. His shotgun sent a double boom across the subdivision.

“Drop back!” he yelled, pumping in another round and firing.

Amanda darted further away from the doorway, continuing to scope the houses across the street. His third shotgun blast blew the wounded man off the roof. Connor heard three quick shots from Amanda’s rifle finding their mark. Sprinting toward the garage door, he fired two well-placed shots that took out the midsection of a man coming around the corner of the garage.

“Move! Into the house!” yelled Connor to Amanda as he reentered the garage.

They heard the back door smashing to the floor now that all pretense of the enemy’s stealth was gone. Connor and Amanda reloaded on the run with practiced ease. Grabbing Amanda by the shoulder, Connor stopped halfway down the hallway, smiling. Seeing the furious glint of excitement in his eyes, even with the sound of many men barging into the house, Amanda felt strangely calm.

“Knife ready, Snuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You might need it. We’re coming up on close quarters low and fast. Keep tight. Point and shoot. Don’t hesitate. Follow me.”

“Okay. The Beretta would be better, right? Close quarters?”

“Positive you’re comfy with it?’

“Yeah.”

“Use it. We need move, now . We’re gonna take an aggressive assault to these men. They think they’re coming up behind us in the garage to play surprise—”

“Go. Go,” said Amanda, understanding his plan.

They moved like a dance team comfortable with each other, entering the kitchen. Connor blasted two men with blistering quick shots as they barged forward. The men were ratty but well fed. He stepped carefully over the blood, firing at a fat man raising a long-barreled rifle into position. The man slammed into the wall, and, just as Connor ejected the spent shell, he heard the incredible boom of both barrels of the ten-gauge Beretta behind him. A bearded man slipping in via the living room entrance, almost unseen, was slammed back onto the couch. He was nearly cut in half. There was not much left of him.

“Nice,” yelled Connor, “Get in the den! We need to see what else is out front!”

“What?”

Amanda was shotgun deaf. Using simple sign, Connor instructed her to follow. Once in the den, Connor took stock, reloading. With pride, he watched Amanda shifting to the other window instead of just hanging close for comfort. While she reloaded, Connor signaled that two more men were hiding out front, fairly well hidden behind the weeds and burnt cars about forty yards out. Nodding, Amanda traded the Beretta for the Remington. A few seconds later, the men were sprawled on the street with 30.06 caliber exit wounds draining their heads of blood. They waited in the den in for fifteen minutes, but no newcomers came to the party. After another five, Connor stood away from the window, smiling.

“Damn this shotgun’s loud,” said Amanda.

“Yeah,” said Connor, “It’s much louder when you use both barrels at the same time. Nice shot by he way. And, there may be more bad guys, but it seems they don’t want to play right now,”

“We leaving?”

“Seems as good a time as any.”

“Okay.”

“Follow me, Snuff.”

“Alright.”

Stopping, Connor grabbed her around the waist, holding her close, face-to-face.

“You did real good, Snuff. Real good.”

“Um, thanks.”

“Excellent composure, poise and control. I’m beginning to think you were born for this. Nice target selection. Adaptable. You’re fuckin’ incredible.”

“Mac, I’m still shaking.”

“I know you are, I know. We’ll fix that later. C’mon.”

“But how come you’re not shaking?”

“Because… well… because, I’m too fuckin’ old to know how anymore. C’mon, let’s go.”

Marty heard the commotion while backtracking. He still hadn’t discovered exactly where he’d made his mistake in tracking Connor and Snuff when the sound of gunfire reached his ears. Multiple shotgun blasts were distinctly heard just before three sharp reports from a rifle, likely a 30.06 that coincidentally was the rifle Snuff carried. Those rifle shots sounded the same to him as those he’d heard in the clearing a few days back with Davey. Listening, more urgent shots came and Marty decided to investigate. Choosing a route through a soybean field, it was his best estimate of a straight line to where the sounds had emanated. He was confident that Connor was somehow involved in the gunfire and increased his pace.