Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Okay, let’s go.”

When Liam heard his uncle’s words, he dashed toward the bear.

His mother turned at his abrupt approach. “Are you okay, Liam?” she asked, concerned.

He grabbed the rope without answering her and dragged the bear, his anger fueling his movements. He quickly was beyond his mother.

“Liam?”

“Let him go, Terry,” said Andy, knowing the boy would eventually regain control of his emotions. He wasn’t unsympathetic to Liam’s feelings.

Liam struggled with the carcass and it became apparent to them both that they shouldn’t offer any assistance to him in his current condition. Andy draped his arm comfortably over Terry’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

“Umm, he’s beginning to realize that his daddy’s not coming home.”

“Oh.”

Andy roughly wiped watering eyes with his sleeve and cleared his throat. “I guess… today… it’s kinda hittin’ home. Maybe… just maybe, my big brother isn’t coming back.”

She turned toward him, leaning into his chest so that he wouldn’t see her tears. “Oh, Andy,” she sobbed, embracing him and feeling the comfort of his arms.

“I never thought I’d out-live that sonofabitch,” said Andy. “Anytime I ever bring it up with Ryan, he just tells me to shut the hell up. It’s messed up that Melissa and Megan are gone—he’d listen to them all the time, but he’d never listen to me. It’s five years since I seen my sisters and Mac. It still hurts.”

“I know, Andy.” They embraced for a minute more, their faces turned to witness the epic struggle of Liam with his bear.

Andy wanted eye contact and held her at arms length. “You know, Terry, I’ve always loved the way your eyes change from gray to blue when you get emotional. Mac told me about it once, after a fight you had that first year you were together. He said it was one of the neatest things he’d ever seen. And what was even more amazing to him, was the fact that they continued to change while you were making up. From gray to blue and back to gray. I think I’m in love with that look, Terry.”

She left his arms and took a few steps toward the house. He was unable to speak and she turned to face him, sighing. “Andy? What are we gonna do?”

“Mac,” said Amanda. She intently studied the window of the house through the riflescope. “Primary action’s near a couch in the back of the front room.”

“Okay, what else?”

“Nada.”

Cody and Marty were positioned on either side of the front door. While Cody kept his head down as told, Marty risked a quick glance through the tall, narrow windows set on either side of the door. Connor waited for Marty’s signal which, when it came, conveyed the situational status inside the house. Nodding, he acknowledged the update.

“Cover our asses, Snuff,” said Connor.

Connor quickly made his way to the front door. Without pausing, he delivered a brutal kick above the doorknob and the wood jamb splintered, door swinging open hard. Pleased, Connor caught Marty following him with such quick agility; he had prevented the door from returning after the violent bounce off the wall. Marty’s rifle barked once and they heard Amanda’s do the same, the sound of the front window shattering at the same moment as the rifle shot. A man holding a knife at the foot of the couch had time only to glance down at two blossoming spots on his chest before he died, his last heartbeat coming before he hit the floor.

Connor swept his shotgun forward, searching for targets and seeing a man and a woman lying on the couch.

“One down!”

Connor simultaneously witnessed the bare-chested man on the couch take hits to his chest from what had to be Marty’s Colt Defender. The confidence needed to take such dangerously close shots to the prone woman registered in his brain. The dying man, a bulky bastard, fell forward, atop the woman. She grunted loudly with the unexpected weight before making a noise of disgust and pushing the man away and onto the floor.

Connor tracked the third man to his left and, much to his dismay, recognized the movements of an experienced soldier in flight. To the team’s advantage, the soldier was unarmed and moving quickly, rolling out of range before coming to his knees brandishing a silver handgun.

Before Connor locked on target, the boom of a rifle behind him provided him the opportunity to watch the soldier’s hard stumble against the wall. The soldier’s slow motion descent to the floor smeared a bright red streak on the wall and Connor quickly jumped the couch. Worried, he delivered another round into the soldier’s body, ensuring his death. Cautious, he slipped into the kitchen while Marty snuck in through the dining room.

“Clear!” yelled Connor, lowering his weapon into a safe carrying position.

“Clear!” yelled Marty from the dining room doorway. There was no second floor to contend with in this home.

“Is anyone hit?” Connor yelled, knowing that not one of the bad guys had loosed a round, but asking anyway.

“No!” said Amanda.

“Copy that!” said Marty.

Connor heard the soft sobs of Cody’s mother and made his way back toward the broken front door where Cody vigilantly waited for additional orders.

“Nice shot, Cody.”

“Mr. Connor Mac?” pleaded the boy. “Can I go to my mom or do I still stay with you?” The boy’s eyes had locked on his mother’s disheveled figure on the couch.

“Cody, you did real good, son. Go take care of your momma.” The boy needed no further invitation and flew to his mother, covering her swollen face with kisses. She sobbed with relief.

Connor quickly waved to Amanda that they were in control of the tactical situation and Marty slipped toward the front door to ensure continued safety during the recovery. Connor moved to the man on the floor in the corner, kneeling next to him. Studying the extent of damage, the man was tied excessively with baling wire, wrists crudely bound together behind his back and his ankles held firm. To be extraordinarily cruel, the assailants had taken the time to tie his ankles to his wrists, tightening the wire so that the man’s knees were bent and his back was arched, making him nearly immobile beneath the bay window.

The man’s eyes never left his wife and his son. “Sir,” said Connor, slowly demanding his attention and removing the sock gag from the man’s mouth, “we’re friends of your son. You’re safe for now. Do you understand?”

The man turned his eyes to Connor, nodding.

“You have any broken bones?” Connor would have to lean over the man to remove the baling wire.

“No, don’t think so,” croaked the man.

Amanda appeared in the doorway, Connor turning. “Snuff, see to Cody’s mom.”

“Sure, Mac.”

“Sir, I’m gonna slide you out from the wall a little bit so I can reach behind you.”

“Okay.”

Slipping behind, Connor gently unwound the twisted wire. The man wept, tears slowly rolling along the side of his nose. Connor removed the baling wire from his ankles.

“Marty, maintain a thirty yard perimeter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Finished with the baling wire, the man was free, making determined eye contact with Connor, conveying his appreciation. Standing, the severely beaten man stumbled to his wife and child, quickly lost in their embrace. Connor stood ten feet from the reunited family. At intervals, he glanced out the window, keeping an eye on the area outside. After a few minutes, he decided it was time to expand the security perimeter.

“Cody? We need to settle down here, just in case.” The woman in Cody’s arms shook uncontrollably, continuing to cry. She hugged her son and husband tightly, hesitant to relinquish their embrace. Her ripped and torn flannel shirt fluttered about her body and one of her legs stood free from her jeans. Connor noticed that her underwear was still intact, but her nose ran freely with blood. She wiped occasionally, smearing blood on anything she touched, including her family.