The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (29 page)

"You got that right," a tall, robust man
shouts.

"We'll move out in the morning. Everyone get
back to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow," says the man
in khakis.

Apparently they have things under control.
Whatever has taken place with this group or within this group is
settled. The gunfire is done, and things seem to be settling down.
John backs away from the window and meets Kelly on the second floor
landing.

Groups of people like this may be forming
all over the country. It's not for him and Kelly to judge them and
get involved in their business. If they feel like they've been
wronged by someone, then they will have to handle their own
problems. Intervening could lead to problems they don't need right
now. Helpless people who are falling victim to creeps out there do
need their assistance. Not these people. They seem to be doing fine
on their own.

They jog back to the truck. John's glad to
be leaving this town. He'll be even gladder to get back home. They
get to the truck just in time to find three men trying to steal
it.

"Hey!" Kelly shouts, effectively startling
them.

When their lookout spins around to face
Kelly, he's holding a shotgun of his own. The two others jump out
of the truck's cab and are also holding weapons.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Take it easy, man," Kelly
bellows.

"Fuck off! This is our truck. Get outta here
or we'll use these on you," the younger man, the lookout says.

He has way too much confidence in his
abilities with that shotgun for being so young. He can't be more
than twenty. The other man beside him looks older, maybe late
thirties. He has a hunting rifle, maybe a 30.06 if John was to
guess. It's difficult to be certain with night vision green skewing
his vision. All three of the men hold flashlights, but do not have
the benefit of military gear. The last man looks afraid. He's
definitely in his twenties and has a skater-boy grunge appearance.
His eyes dart nervously between his two comrades. He's not up for
this. Doesn't matter. He's still a threat since he's holding a
shotgun.

"This is our truck, young man," John says,
trying to appease them and calm the situation. He even holds one
hand out in front of him to stay them. "We came in it and we're
leaving in it."

"Fuck that, man," the older guy says and
swings the hunting rifle in their direction.

Kelly and John quickly separate, jump and
take cover on the opposite sides of the alley, using the brick
buildings to shield against the sudden onslaught of rifle fire and
two reports of the shotgun. They both unscrew the silencers and
stow them.

"Get lost, assholes!" one of them crudely
shouts again between shots. "This truck's ours!"

Kelly signals to John that he's going to
flank. John will need to provide suppressive, and more importantly
distracting fire. He steals a quick glance around the corner,
avoids getting shot and discovers two more men that have joined up
with the group shooting at Kelly and him. They are also both armed.
He hopes his friend doesn't run into any others on his way around
back. John pops off a round from the shotgun.

The light pop of a .223 round, likely from
Kelly's rifle comes from the front of the building. Obviously he's
found more targets. John's going to need to do more than support
fire. He's wishing he had a grenade. Rounds continue to ping and
chip at the brick and mortar building at his back. He glances
right, finds another man coming at him. He's also young, probably
close to the same age as the other, but he has a pistol. So he's
also a threat.

"Don't do it, kid," John shouts.

Unfortunately, he doesn't take John's advice
and raises the revolver toward him instead. He's forced to take him
out with the shotgun. With that done, he trots in the direction of
the kid and blasts through the front door of the building, not
bothering to look at the young man's prone body.

He's now in a former restaurant of some
kind. He's looking for a good position to take up at a window.
Knocking into chairs and tables as he goes, John finds the right
area. Next, he slides the window up whisper-quiet so he doesn't
have to shoot through it. Slinging the shotgun behind him, he pulls
the M16 forward, clicks off the safety and takes aim. He can only
get a visual on four of them.

After a deep breath in, he squeezes. Two
targets disabled quickly enough. The other two have spotted him and
are shooting in his direction. The outer brick wall provides a good
cover as he slides left, pressing his back against it. The window's
smashed to hell, but he's protected from taking a round. The front
door swings in noisily. It's the missing perp, so John takes him
out with two shots center mass.

The dead guy's friends will expect the shots
John fired to have come from their partner. They expect John to be
dead at this point, so John takes the opportunity to go through the
back of the building and come out behind them.

Movement behind them catches his peripheral
vision. It's Kelly. Neither of the bad-guys have heard him or his
friend. John and Kelly take aim, fire simultaneously and finish off
their enemies. Just like old times. It's kind of sad that these are
fellow Americans, though. But they have responsibilities at the
farm to get back to. There was no other way for this situation to
come out differently. They'd warned these men. He's not going to
get shot or lose Doc's truck or hike back to the farm. These men
are takers, and there's no place for taking when the property
belongs to the McClanes. They are just like any other terrorist
he's ever come across. He just doesn't like it that they were also
Americans. John knows they can't dwell on it now. There's always
plenty of downtime to worry about battles, decisions and choices.
He just usually chooses not to.

Kelly walks over and puts John's hit out of
his misery. His shot hadn't made a clean kill, which is unusual for
him. But Kelly's calm as ever. This is his normal attitude in a
skirmish. He's cool and decisive and the best point man John's ever
known. They stand a moment, listening and waiting. Nobody else
comes at them. The deafening firefight has left a soft ringing in
John's ears. But there aren't any other signs of life moving about,
especially none coming at them with weapons.

"Sorry it took me a while. Ran into some
dicks on the way," Kelly relays to John.

"Yeah, I figured," John says with a friendly
smirk. "Heard the shots. Any problems?"

"Nah, just these losers and few more of
their buddies around the front."

"Good. This crap's getting old," John
remarks with a tightening of his mouth.

"Let's get the hell outta here," his friend
suggests.

John bumps his fist, and they get back into
the truck. Kelly fires it up.

"Didn't even have our theme music to get
ready for this one," Kelly remarks good naturedly.

"Yeah, bummer, man," John states as he
stashes his shotgun between his legs.

Kelly says, "Coulda' thrown off our
game."

"I think I broke a nail," John returns which
earns a shout of laughter from Kelly. It's good to blow off the
tension with some lightness. It's how they've always dealt with the
heavy stuff.

"See? Gay."

They both laugh again and make slow, steady
progress back out of the town of Pleasant View without any other
delays or violent interactions with the new townsfolk. This town
may have been where the girls attended public school and where Doc
had established his medical practice, but this is no one's town
anymore. This is like any other town across America: dangerous.

John breathes a sigh of relief when the farm
comes into view. All joking aside, he's glad they are on their way
home.

The 'theme song' Kelly referred to was
always AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap." Always seemed fitting
before. Still does.

Three days have passed since John and Kelly
had come home from Pleasant View. Reagan's sure she must've come
out of the shed fifty times to peer down through the cattle pasture
looking for them. She'd noticed that Derek had done the same thing
from the back porch. Grandpa had been as calm as always. They'd all
blown a collective sigh of relief when the faint, shadowy glimmer
of the truck's headlights had come into view.

As soon as she'd seen John's face, Reagan
had known something went down on their trip to town. They'd both
denied anything happening, but Reagan saw the gun powder residue on
their fingertips, the spent shotgun shell sticking out of John's
back pocket. Plus they'd also brought back six additional guns with
them. John had said they'd found them. Fat chance. Neither of their
military rifles had their silencers still attached. Something went
down for sure. He also wouldn't meet her eyes with his own. He'd
lied. She's not sure she blames him. She's not sure she wants to
know what happened.

She and Grandpa had utilized the ultrasound
machine to ascertain the baby's size and approximate weight that
same night that John and Kelly had returned with it. Sadly enough,
though, the baby is just going to be way too small to save. Grandpa
had said that there is a small possibility of performing the
cesarean if she lives a few more weeks. That's not likely to
happen.

Subsequently, four days have passed since
her damn, fateful kiss in the barn with John. Avoidance is a
wonderful and useful tool when applied to dealing with an
embarrassing and regretful experience shared with someone with whom
you don't wish to speak. Instead of turning in at a normal hour the
last four nights since that kiss, Reagan has stayed until the wee
hours of the morning in the med shed with Grandpa so that she
wouldn't have to be alone with John in their shared bedroom. He'd
taken Jacob and put him to bed in her bed where she found him every
night propped and barricaded with pillows and found John fast
asleep in his own until his watch shift rolled around. She knew he
wouldn't be so bold as to bring it up in front of the family so
when she was with them she was safe, off limits. However, the lack
of sleep has finally gotten to her, and she's practically falling
asleep standing upright in the med shed.

Her patient Jennifer Miller isn't going to
make it. She is simply too weak to fight off the sickness within
her body. Reagan and Grandpa had discussed it this morning when
she'd come back out to relieve him. Her vitals are lower than just
a few days ago, and her body is starting the process of shutting
down just like Garrett's had despite the different drug concoctions
they've been trying. Her baby's fetal heart rate is also low,
almost undetectable. Great-uncle Peter has not come in to see her
even once since their arrival. Some devoted boyfriend he is turning
out to be.

It's still early in the day, but Sam has not
joined Reagan as of yet, and she had not come from the visitors'
camp this morning when Huntley and Simon had. The kids had joined
the family a few days ago for taco night, and everyone had a blast.
John had played a Spanish song on the guitar afterward in the music
room, causing the little kids to dance around and act silly. It had
been a welcome change from the dark and dreary days of which
they've all succumbed to lately. Reagan is starting to get
concerned that Sam isn't coming at all when she finally hears a
commotion outside of the shed.

"…you will get some or I'll kick your skinny
ass again, you hear?"

"Please don't make me, Bobby. These people
have been so nice to us," Sam replies in a desperate, fearful
plea.

When Reagan gets to the door, she sees the
teen with the steely, dark eyes, Bobby, jerk roughly on Sam's upper
arm. What neither of the two teens catch is Cory jump the railing
on the back porch, and he's on them in a heartbeat.

"Let her go!" Cory threatens with a flint of
grit in his eye.

"Yes, let her go. Now," Reagan says as she
steps onto the cement stoop and removes her latex gloves. They will
encumber her should she need to draw the .45 under her surgical
gown.

"This ain't got nothing to do with you two,
so piss off," Bobby barks.

This makes Reagan seriously worried for the
punk's health as Cory steps closer.

"I said let her go, dickhead," Cory says
with calm fortitude.

He's a big kid and Bobby is not nearly the
size of Cory. However, Bobby has a fight in him that has come from
a life of hardness if Reagan was to guess.

"She was told to do something, and we were
just having a discussion about it. So mind your own damn business,"
Bobby sneers and gives Sam's arm a shove as he releases her.

The girl stumbles hard and almost falls, but
Cory catches her at the last second. He sweeps her behind him with
one arm, and Sam stays there, content to have Cory defend her.

"What did you want her to do?" Reagan asks
coolly.

"None of your business, hot stuff," Bobby
says.

He licks his lower lip and swipes a hand
through his black hair. There is a piercing in his lower lip and
two matching ones in his left ear.

"Don't talk to Dr. McClane like that," Cory
defends her, as well.

He's never called her that before. He
usually doesn't talk much at all to her for some reason.

"She ain't much of a doctor. Everyone around
here keeps fuckin' dyin'," he says on an obnoxious laugh.

He's a very good-looking young man, but the
coldness in his eyes make him appear hard, which he obviously is.
For being younger than her, Bobby scares Reagan. The intensity of
his mannerisms comes off as confident and too self-assured.

"You could, too, if you keep running your
mouth," Cory threatens.

Reagan is shocked at the brevity of his
comment. He is not the kind of kid who talks like that. He doesn't
talk much to anyone, other than his brother or Simon.