Joseph Talluto - America the Dead

I left the map and walked back to the RV, shaking my head at Tommy and Nate. As I reached the center of the road, a shot rang out from in front of me. At first I thought it was Tommy, but then in the next second I realized it couldn’t be Tommy because I had been shot! The round slammed into the left side of my abdomen and there was a popping sound as the bullet hit me. Something hit my head and I stumbled backwards, dropping my rifle, and coming to a stop near the truck. My gut hurt like hell and I immediately tried to press both hands to stop whatever bleeding there might be. My head hurt and I could feel blood pouring down my face.

I heard several more shots being fired and the sound of the RV roaring to life. The last sound I heard was Tommy screaming my name as the RV pulled away. After that I didn’t hear anything.

I opened my eyes to what I thought was some time later and stared at the weird scene in front of me. There was a long metal bar right above my face and another at a cross section. If this was the afterlife, it was already a disappointment. My head cleared a bit and I began to realize what had happened. Somebody had shot me and I was under the truck I had been investigating. I reached down to where my wound was and poked around a bit. My vest was frayed and there was a lot of busted metal that pricked my probing fingers. My side hurt like hell, but it didn’t feel as bad as I thought it would. I had heard that getting shot in the gut was as bad as it could be and doomed the recipient to an agonizing death. If this was agonizing pain, I was tougher than I thought I was. I explored my head wound and found a gash near my hairline. My face was crusted with drying blood, so I was sure I looked a fright.

I could hear the sounds of gunfire, so I figured my friends were still in the fray, taking on whoever had shot me. I raised my hand and looked at my fingers, expecting to see them covered in blood. I was rather surprised they weren’t.

What the hell? I started to sit up, but my side hurt again and I bumped my head on the axle of the truck. Falling back, I put my hand out and touched the stock of my M1A. I looked at it for a second and figured I must have grabbed it before I took shelter under the truck. I didn’t remember doing either of those things, so it was another surprise.

I rolled over, wincing as a fresh wave of pain hit my gut and crawled out on the opposite side of the truck. Whoever had shot me was pretty lousy at assassination, since I was a fairly lively corpse. But if they were still out there, I didn’t want to offer them a chance to correct their mistake.

I got to my knees and willed myself to look at the damage. I was expecting to see blood soaked clothing and a very disturbing hole in my sacred person. What I was not expecting to see was a vest pocket blown away and a very badly damaged rifle magazine. Several rounds had exploded when they had been hit, rupturing the mag and blowing out the pocket.

I thought I knew what had happened. The sniper had hastily taken his shot, since I had gotten out before the planned ambush site and the round had punched into one of the steel-sided magazines for my rifle. The steel had absorbed most of the energy of the round, but it had enough to penetrate three of my cartridges, causing them to fire and blow the mag apart at the front. One of the rounds went north and had struck me a glancing blow to the head. Two inches to the left and I’d be dead.

I was going to be sore as hell for a while for taking a hit from a rifle and having a small explosion at my liver, but there was no way around the truth. I was luckier than I had a right to be. Somewhere out there, there was a guy who couldn’t walk through a doorway without bumping something. I had all of his luck, as well as mine.

I looked over my M1A for damage and it had nothing worse than a few dings in the stock and flash hider from its fall to the ground. As I wiped it off and checked the barrel for obstructions, the sound of gunfire came to me again and in a flash, I was pissed. I also clearly understood what the circles and symbols meant on the map. This was an ambush for me, sent by Thorton.

My blood went cold as I let my rage build. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, pulling in the pain from the near miss and drawing strength from it. As I opened my eyes I smiled grimly to no one. The killer was free.

The shots I was hearing came from the south, so I decided to head that way. I wanted to fight, to kill and every second of delay made me angrier. I ran back to a side street and worked my way south, with the notion that I might be able to come up behind the attackers and take them by surprise. I had no idea who was alive or how many people were still fighting. I did know one thing for sure.

I knew who was not going to live.

The road I limped down was called Fire Lane and it was pretty much an alley between two larger roads. But it gave me a corridor to approach the firefight unseen. I passed by the Harrisburg Community Center and I glanced at it briefly, thinking I saw something move in the shadows. But I didn’t have time to care, as the firing intensified. Somebody had somebody else pinned down pretty good, but the fact that the firing kept up gave me hope that someone was still up and fighting.

Fire Lane ended at Walnut Street, where a day care center sat on the corner. Across the street I could see some houses that looked to be occupied by the dead and they were standing at the windows, looking out at the action. I still couldn’t tell where the firing was coming from, but it seemed I was a lot closer. The shots were less frequent, only an occasional round being fired here and there. It sounded like the two sides had settled into a kind of a stalemate.

Crossing Walnut, I made my way around a small strip mall, aware that the firing seemed to be coming from the building right in front of me. I thought it was a grocery store, but it could have been anything. I moved further to the east to see if I could get a glimpse of the situation and when I did, I could see the RV parked next to a brick building. Moving a little more, I could see it was a post office. I smiled. Trust Nate to find the best building for defense. Old time post offices were built like bomb shelters and it would take a hell of a hit to bring it down. The brick allowed for good protection from gunfire and the steel mesh covering the windows prevented more accurate shots from finding their targets.

I could see rounds bouncing off the walls as less-than-precise firing came from the building across the street. As I looked, rifles poked out from the building next to the post office, making escape impossible. Nate and the others were pinned down, no question about it. They were going to either be killed or die of dehydration. Neither of which was an option to my liking.

I decided to take on the building next door to the Post Office, figuring it had fewer men inside. That was a pure guess, but it made sense. I needed to get across the street without being seen, so I backtracked a block and ran down Walnut to Spruce Street. I cut across Columbus and made my way through overgrown backyards, stepping around discarded children’s toys and playhouses. Lonely swings squeaked a greeting as I moved quietly past. I worked my way close to a house and crawled around a swimming pool, gritting my teeth against the pain in my side. I hoped like hell I didn’t have any internal bleeding or I was going to be mad.

The way looked clear and I moved silently over to the door. As luck would have it, the entrance was on the side away from the street, so I could enter without being seen by the group across the way. Hopefully, my luck would hold out a little longer.

I figured my rifle would be too much for close in work, so I slung it across my back and pulled my knife. I needed to do this quietly and try not to alert anyone I was there until it was too late. I had my SIG if I needed it, but I hoped I wouldn’t.