The Battle: Alone: Book 4 (23 page)

     Adjacent to the tube was a disposable lighter, which he used to heat the dirty end of the tube until it glowed red. He put the cold end just inside his nostril and snorted the line.

     The superheated end of the pipe turned the powder into gas instantly, and he exhaled a thick cloud of pure white smoke, then held onto the dresser with his free hand as the rush overtook him. Once the initial rush took over his brain, he placed his hands on his knees, so that the blood rushed to his head.

     After a full minute he straightened up very quickly and experienced a secondary rush that was almost as powerful as the first. This one caused the room to spin and he almost fell over.

     A few minutes later he was back in his zone, having fought off the initial pangs of withdrawal his body always felt several hours after his bump. Now he could cope. In his own drug-addled mind, he was capable of anything, and could conquer the world. He saw himself as superior to everyone else on earth.

     He didn’t know, and wouldn’t have cared anyway, that the rest of the world saw him as a pitiful junkie, incapable of conquering anything.

     He checked the clock again. It was past six thirty now. He couldn’t tell it by looking out the window, because the room light was still on, but he knew the sun was up and Garcia would be getting antsy. He wouldn’t say anything to Swain, of course. Garcia was afraid of his leader. But he’d bitch to the other men that Swain was late in relieving him. And such bitching fomented discontent, which was the first step towards mutiny. And mutiny went hand in hand with anarchy. Neither could be tolerated.

     He dressed and walked down the stairs, opened the door to the insurance room and walked in. Garcia was sitting on a chair in the center of the room, his feet propped up on the foot of the bed, trying his best to keep from dozing off.

     Eight year old Tony, Karen’s son and Sarah’s nephew, had already lost his own battle and was sleeping peacefully in the center of the bed.

     “Anything happen last night?” Swain asked Garcia. “Any noises outside?”

     “No, sir. Nothing.”

     “Very well. Give me ten minutes to check on the other guys and I’ll come back and relieve you so you can get some sleep.”

     “Thank you, sir.”

     Swain went to the kitchen to find Jessika talking to Lindsey and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

     “Good morning, sir. Ready for coffee?”

     “No, I’ll take this one.”

     He took the still steaming cup from Lindsey’s hands and sipped it.

     “But she’ll have another one.”

     His paranoia was acting up again. When he was having a paranoid episode, he was convinced that everyone, his soldiers and hostages alike, were all plotting his demise. He refused to eat or drink anything unless someone else had eaten or drank from it first, and even toyed with the idea of having one of the hostages becoming his official taste tester.

     “Fix me some pancakes and eggs. I’m hungry.”

     “I’m sorry, sir. We haven’t been able to go to the barn to milk Daisy, or to go to the coop to gather eggs yet. No one has come to escort us.”

     It was one of Swain’s own rules. No hostage was allowed outside for any reason without an armed guard.

     “Damn it!”

     Swain turned on his heels and stormed out of the kitchen.

     Jessika looked at Lindsey. Her face was easy to read. Swain was going to be a bear today. They’d best stay away from him as much as possible.

Chapter 41

     Swain went to the southeast corner of the house to find Davis holding up a window blind and watching the yard outside.

     Thank God! At least one of his men knew how to follow instructions. He’d been told to guard the back porch during the hours of darkness, but to retreat indoors just before sunrise so he couldn’t be picked off by a sniper after the sun came up.

     “Good morning, sir.”

     “Good morning, Davis. You mean your relief hasn’t come on yet?”

     “No, sir. Not yet.”

     For the second time in less than a minute, Swain muttered the words, “Damn it!” And for the second time in a minute he stormed off, determined to kick some ass.

     He took the stairs two at a time, which was pretty impressive for a junkie who was high as a kite.

     Normally he’d have knocked on Holliday’s door, but not today. Not in the state of mind he was in. He just didn’t feel so inclined.

     Instead, he stormed in ready to roll Holliday out of bed and to threaten to shoot him for malingering.

     Then he saw the blood covered sheets and Holliday’s lifeless body, slumped face first into his pillow. For a brief moment it didn’t register. How in the hell could he be dead, and what was with all the blood?”

     Then he noticed the shattered window pane.

     He rushed out of the room and went directly to Garcia’s room next door, already knowing what he’d find there. And sure enough, Garcia’s cold and stiff body, crumpled on the floor, told him he was dealing with much more than a few snipers who could only find their targets in the light of day.

     And even in his drugged up state, he felt something he seldom felt and didn’t like.

     He felt genuine fear.

     He went back downstairs and called to Davis, “Hold your position for now. Your relief’s not coming. They’re both dead.”

     In the kitchen, Lindsey and Jessika heard his words as well, and looked at each other.

     Jessika whispered, “Do you really think it’s your father?”

     Lindsey nodded her head yes.

     “Wow,” Jessika replied. “Just… wow!”

     Swain went to the northwest corner of the house, expecting to find Thomas there. But Thomas was nowhere in sight, and the front of the house as well as the north and west sides were unguarded.

     “Where the hell is Thomas?”

     There was no answer.

     Swain flattened himself against the wall next to the front door and opened it. He yelled out, “Thomas, are you out there?”

     Again, no answer.

     “Shit!”

     He closed the door again, and locked it. As though whoever was out there killing his men would be deterred from kicking it in.

     In a loud voice he yelled to the entire house, “Has anyone seen Thomas?”

     Still no answer.

     But his yelling did wake Sarah, who appeared at the top of the stairs to the basement, and through sleepy eyes surveyed the situation.

     It was easy to see the panic on Swain’s face.

     “What’s going on?”

     “I think you know damn well what’s going on, bitch! I think you’ve been feeding them information. Tell everyone in the basement I want them up here. Two minutes. I’ll personally shoot anyone who’s late.”

     Sarah quickly retreated down the stairs to wake the others up.

     They were hurriedly herded up and gathered in the den, everyone careful not to sit on the couch still stained with McDonough’s blood.

     Swain told Garcia to stand on one end of the room, rifle ready, and Davis on the other end.

     “If we come under attack, the hostages die first,” he told them. Somebody in this room has been tipping them off and telling them where our guys were. I just know it. I can feel it in my bones.”

     He went directly to Sarah and looked her in the eyes.

     “Was it you? Were you the disloyal one? After everything I’ve done to treat you right? Have you finally stabbed me in the back?”

     “No one has been disloyal to you. Your paranoia is starting to mess with your mind.”

     “Don’t talk back to me. It’s not too late to start treating you like the others.”

     He paced back and forth for several minutes, then had an epiphany.

     He pointed to Lindsey and to Sarah.

     “You two. We’ll find out how loyal you are. I want you two to go outside and start unloading that black Explorer that Snyder drove into the yard. I could see there was some kind of cargo in the back. Bring it all in. If anybody’s going to be shot for going outside, it’ll be you and not us.”

     Lindsey and Sarah stood. By now they were sure they knew who was responsible for the carnage outside. And they were confident that they wouldn’t be targets.

     And getting a chance to look inside the Explorer would answer the burning question in their minds once and for all: was it Dave, come to rescue them?

     As they walked toward the front door, something flashed in Sarah’s mind. What if it wasn’t Dave’s SUV? What if it was just a coincidence that the vehicle Snyder had managed to steal and drive to the farm just resembled Dave’s? Then what?

     As quickly as she’d had the thought, though, she dismissed it.

     Lindsey was right. Sarah was a “glass is half empty” kind of person. She made a mental note to work on that.

     Sarah opened the door and stood, a sitting duck if there ever was one, in the door frame. There were no shots.

     She went out onto the front porch, and Lindsey started to follow her.

     “Wait!” Swain yelled. “Just a reminder, if either of you try to run the rest of your family members will die.”

Chapter 42

     Lindsey gasped at the sight of Snyder’s lifeless eyes, fully open and staring off into space as houseflies swarmed in and around the bloody mess that once was his head.

     “Just don’t look at him,” her mom advised. “Focus on the stuff we need to carry back into the house.”

     But that wouldn’t be so easy. Much of the provisions in the back seat were covered in blood and brain matter.

     Swain, still cowering like a frightened child inside the house, was well out of earshot.

     “I’ll tell you what,” Sarah told her daughter. “You get the stuff out of the back of the car. I’ll take the things out of the back seat. And if you see anything with your father’s name on it, leave it behind.”

     One of the first things both women saw were two very large glass jars full of granola bars, trail mix and beef jerky. They immediately recognized them as the jars Sarah had once purchased in mass quantity at a garage sale. Dave had made fun of her for buying something so frivolous, and Sarah had maintained that they would come in handy for something, someday.

     Lindsey remembered them because she’d helped her mom carry them into the attic in San Antonio three years before, where they seemingly would sit and gather dust until the end of time.

     Or maybe not.

     When Dave began his journey to San Antonio, he took the jars and filled them with provisions, which he’d planned to drop in secret caches every ten miles along the way. His thinking was that after he rescued his family, they might lose their vehicle, either to theft or mechanical breakdown. If that were to happen, and if they had to make their way back home on horseback or on foot, the food caches would make the trip infinitely easier.

     He’d had two jars left over. And they provided the confirmation Sarah and Lindsey needed that this was, indeed, Dave’s vehicle.

     The series of attacks confirmed that he was indeed there to rescue them.

     And since there were only three bad guys left: Swain, Garcia and Davis, he was very close to completing his task.

     Of course, Dave didn’t know that. Dave never did learn how many men were in the house. He didn’t know whether he’d wiped them all out, or there were twenty or more left to do battle with him.

     The women made several trips from the Explorer to the house, carrying bottles of water and provisions. But they left several things behind.

     Dave’s backup survival knife. Two loaded magazines for his AR-15 rifle. Two extra racks loaded with bolts for Dave’s crossbow.

     No sense beefing up Swain’s already well-stocked arsenal of weapons and ammunition. And besides, if Dave needed it, Sarah wanted him to continue to have access to it.