Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

EVENT +75:34

Limerick, Maine

A low-pitched roar competed with the high, ringing tone in his ears, breaking the relative silence that had descended on the mudroom for several seconds. Alex flinched when long, tightly spaced bursts of automatic fire erupted in front of the house. He pulled a fresh magazine from one of the pouches on his vest and released the empty, which clattered on the hardwood floor. Hands trembling, he inserted the curved polymer magazine and released the bolt, ready for any militia that survived the Matvees M240s—however doubtful that might be. He lay on his back, pointing his rifle into the smoke, until he started to hear single rifle shots. It was over.

“Stay where you are! Let the marines clear the house. Ryan. Linda, acknowledge,” he rasped, crawling toward them.

Just one asshole with a trigger pull left in him could steal a life. The marines were making sure they didn’t, one bullet at a time.

“Copy. Marines clearing the house,” said Ryan.

“I need to check on Ryan!” Kate called, and he saw her head emerge from the sandbags.

“He’s fine! Stay where you are!”

Samantha Walker’s face appeared next, quickly finding Ed.

“Ed!” she screamed, climbing over the side and scrambling into the foyer.

“Everyone needs to stay—”

Kate jumped out next, running toward the stairs.

“Damn it, Kate!”

“I’m checking on Ryan!”

“I’m fine, Mom!” Ryan yelled from upstairs.

Two heads emerged from the safe box at the sound of Ryan’s voice.

“Heads down!” he barked at Chloe and Daniel Walker. “Where’s the grenade?”

“I threw it on the porch when it landed in the box,” said Samantha.

Alex leaned his head over the side of the sandbags. The Walker kids were shaking.

“Sorry about that, guys. I need you to stay in here until the house is cleared. Your dad’s hurt, but he’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I need the first aid kit!” yelled Kate.

“Throw us the first aid kit, Chloe!” screamed Samantha.

“Keep it down,” Alex hissed from the sandbag wall.

“Dad?” he whispered.

“Still ticking,” said Tim Fletcher from a hidden position in the great room.

He slid over to the basement door and put his head near one of the large holes.

“Nice shooting, Mom. Everyone all right down there?”

“We’re fine. How is my grandson?” Amy responded.

“He sounds fine. Stay put for now.”

A brown tactical-style backpack hit the floor next to him, billowing drywall powder in his face.

“Thanks.” He coughed, grabbing the pack and crawling next to Ed and Samantha.

“What are we looking at here?” he said, unzipping the bag and removing two flat, sealed packets.

“It doesn’t look good,” Samantha said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m fine, honey,” insisted Ed, squeezing her hand. “It just hurts like a motherf—”

“He sounds fine and looks fine.” Alex noticed a small pool of blood on the floor under Ed’s buttocks.

“And he’s not bleeding badly. That’s a good thing. How does your ass feel, buddy?”

“Like I sat on a nail.”

“We can definitely fix this,” Alex said.

He heaved the pack behind Samantha’s back toward Kate, who had turned Charlie onto his stomach and propped his left leg against the front door. She sat under the leg, pressing on his calf. The amount of blood on the floor in the foyer was unsettling, but not indicative of life-threatening arterial damage. Through sidelights next to the door, he saw one of the Matvees cruise past the house, headed west. The gray vehicle reappeared in the great room windows and stopped in the backyard between the barn and the house.

“Kate, use one of the QuikClot dressings and tape it up tight. The marines will take care of the rest. Ryan’s good?”

“I haven’t seen him, but he sounds good,” said Kate, digging through the medical bag. “Emily is fine with your mother?”

Alex smiled at Kate and nodded. “Mom has them locked down tight.”

“Let me see the wound here,” he said, gently moving Ed’s hand. “Definitely the entry, which means…”

He pushed Ed’s right thigh up a few inches and stuck his head against the floor.

“Through and through. Lucky guy,” said Alex, tearing open one of the packets and handing it to Samantha.

“I don’t feel very lucky,” grimaced Ed.

“Lucky it wasn’t your head. Sam, could you slide that trauma pad under his head, I mean ass? I get the two confused,” he said, winking at Ed.

“Was he like this in Boston?” asked Samantha.

“Worse,” replied Ed, wincing as Alex lowered his buttock against the hemostatic pad.

Samantha held out the second pad for Alex.

“Press this firmly into his thigh,” he said, moving out of the way. “It’ll stop the bleeding. I need to check on Linda.”

“What happened to her?”

“No idea. She stopped answering her radio,” he said, walking toward the stairs.

“Stop! Hands on your head!” bellowed a voice through the sitting room.

Alex complied, glancing through the shattered French doors. A rifle pointed at him from the lower right corner of the sitting room windowsill, locked tightly into a woodland MARPAT battle helmet.

“Captain Fletcher?”

“Affirmative.”

“Have all of your people stand fast while we clear the house. Hands visible and clear of any weapons until we positively identify all friendlies. Ooh rah?”

“Ooh rah,” said Alex.

“Dad?” called Ryan from their bedroom.

“Place your rifle on the bed and wait for the marines,” Alex said, leaning his head into the railing behind him. “Linda!”

“What?” she screamed.

Everyone made it.

Alex kept his hands in the air as the first marine appeared, aiming his rifle past the safe box toward the great room. He recognized Corporal Lianez immediately.

“Lianez, my dad’s by the wood-burning stove.”

Staff Sergeant Evans appeared on the other side of the kitchen island and aimed at the sandbags. “Hands up. Stand where I can see you.”

Chloe and Daniel Walker rose slowly, with their hands on their heads. The marine activated his rifle light and swept it through the safe box.

“These two are clear. Lianez, check the room across from the kitchen table.”

“On it,” said Lianez, winking at them as he moved forward to check the dining room.

“Captain Fletcher, what is your dad wearing?” said Evans, aiming his rifle past Lianez.

“Should be old-school woodland camouflage marine cover.”

“Check. Any tangos in that room with you, sir?”

“Negative,” said Tim Fletcher. “I didn’t let any by.”

Evans turned his point of aim to the covered porch. “That’s a no-shitter. Jesus.”

A third marine glided through the sitting room, examining the damage to the sandbags and nodding at Alex.

“Clear in the front room, Staff Sergeant!”

“Same here,” echoed Lianez.

“Clear on the first floor,” said Evans, activating his tactical radio. “Lianez, get these two stabilized for transport.”

“Copy that, Staff Sergeant,” Lianez said, dropping his MARPAT assault pack on the floor next to Ed.

Staff Sergeant Evans glanced up the stairs.

“Sir, is there any chance one of them slipped by you and made it upstairs?”

Alex shook his head. “We stopped them here.”

EVENT +75:51

Limerick, Maine

Eli Russell stumbled out of the forest with four of Bertelson’s men, nearly collapsing on the dirt road.