The Battle: Alone: Book 4 (24 page)

     There was a slight risk that Swain would go out to the Explorer to check their work, would see that they’d left behind valuable resources for their rescuers, and go ballistic.

     But Sarah had seen the fear in Swain’s eyes. He just knew, in his paranoid mind, that to step outside was to sign his own death warrant. That somewhere out there watching was a sniper, laying behind a long-range rifle. And that inside that rifle was a bullet which had Swain’s name on it.

     For all Sarah knew, for all she
hoped
, Swain was right this time.

     In any event, there was very little chance he’d go outside and risk it.

     When they were down to their last load, Sarah picked up Dave’s journal from between the front seats and tucked it into the back of her jeans, then covered it with her blouse.

     She’d taken just a few seconds to leaf through it to see what it was. When she saw that it was Dave’s personal diary that he’d used to document his journey from San Antonio to Kansas City, it warmed her heart.

     She couldn’t wait to read it, and to share it with Lindsey. But before she shared it, she needed to make sure it wasn’t
too
personal.

Chapter 43

     While his wife and daughter were unloading his supplies and carrying them into the farm house, Dave was stirring in the tunnel.

     He was warm and dry inside the sleeping bag, but he needed to get up and put his wet clothing back on.

     It wasn’t that he wanted to. Actually, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But he didn’t want to set out for the next phase of his mission with wet clothing. It would hamper his movements and make him miserable at a time when he’d have to focus entirely on the mission at hand. Not on how bad his armpits and groin were chafing from his being soaking wet.

     The tunnel was too damp to help. The only thing that would dry his clothing was his own body heat. So his plan was simple.

     He’d crawl out of the cozy bag, put the wet clothing back on his body, and go for one final recon mission while he dried. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t see anything he didn’t expect to see. Which was pretty much nothing at all. He’d sent them all to ground in the farmhouse, and it was very unlikely any of them would show their faces outside again.

     But on the off chance he was wrong, or if they had replacements coming in, he’d need to know that. And he needed something to do while his clothes were drying anyway.

     They’d dry a lot faster outside, in the woods, than in the tunnel.

     He’d slept fitfully, knowing that this could well be his last day of operations. If all went well, by the end of the day he’d know exactly how many of the enemy he was dealing with. And if the numbers weren’t stacked too highly against him, would eliminate them all.

     If there were too many to contend with, he’d continue on with his present course of action: finding targets of opportunity and taking them out one at a time.

     By ten a.m. he was at the tree-line, directly across from the front porch of the house a couple of hundred yards away. He focused his Bushnell binoculars first on the porch itself, then on the shrubbery beside it.

     Directly below the ivy covered trellis he could see a man’s lower leg protruding from a thick shrub.

     That confirmed his suspicion that the bad guys were too afraid to go outside. If they had, they’d have done a security check around the house and would have discovered the body. They’d have either disposed of it, or at least dragged it far away from the house. In another day or so, it would start to smell. Three days from now the smell would start to permeate the house. In five days the stench would become unbearable. Surely they knew that. The fact the body hadn’t been moved, or even discovered, meant that they were frightened and were holed up in the house.

     It wasn’t where Dave wanted them, necessarily.

     But at least he knew where they all were.

     And despite Swain’s contention that ground is easier to defend than to take, Dave was determined. He had a plan and he was gutsy enough to carry it out.

     Even if it meant walking right into the demon’s lair.

     He scanned the area around the Explorer. The hatchback was inexplicably left open. He wondered why.

     He’d expected it to be ransacked. And it appeared to have been. Most of the plastic bags full of provisions had been removed from the back, and his fishing rod was gone.

     He was sorry he hadn’t been around to see the vehicle being emptied. The men who’d taken his family hostage were almost certainly too cowardly to have done it themselves. They probably had the hostages do it, and aimed rifles on them through the windows to make sure they didn’t run. He might have been able to catch a glimpse of little Beth or Lindsey as they carted the bags of goods into the house.

     God, he missed his girls. He couldn’t wait to hold them and wipe the tears of joy from their eyes. The end was in reach now, and he’d done well. But now wasn’t the time to get sloppy. He’d come too far, gotten too close. He was so close to them now he could almost reach out and touch them.

     He had to keep his wits about him. This was too important to blow at the last moment. He suddenly remembered another thing Master Sergeant Holliman had taught him in the Corps.

     “Confidence can be a wonderful thing. It spurs you to act. It gets things done. But
over
confidence, on the other hand, can be the devil in disguise. It can encourage you to be rash. To move too quickly. To get yourself or your men killed.”

     He’d keep his wits, and his cool. He’d continue to move methodically, even as his first impulse was to run to them and scoop them up in his arms.

     He’d do this thing right.

     His clothing was dry now. He was getting ready to leave, to make his way back to the tunnel, to begin the next phase of his operation.

     But something caught his eye.

     Something in the back of the Explorer.

     But he couldn’t quite make it out, not without changing position.

     He made his way about twenty yards to the east, where the shrubbery between himself and the house wasn’t quite as thick. Didn’t hamper his view quite as much.

     Then he raised the Bushnells to his eyes again.

     And smiled.

    
That’s
why the vehicle’s hatchback was left raised. It wasn’t done out of carelessness, or because someone simply forget to lower it. It was left that way on purpose.

     So whoever had emptied the vehicle could leave him a message.

     Inside the back of the Explorer, one rack of his crossbow bolts was leaning up against the back of the rear seat, facing toward the open hatch. Stuck to the bolt’s tip was a single sheet of paper, torn from his journal and hanging limply.

     On the paper, probably drawn with the sharpie Dave always kept clipped to the front of his journal, was a large heart.

     They knew. His family knew he was out there and was coming for them. And suddenly Dave couldn’t help it. He began to cry.

Chapter 44

     “Is this it?”

     Swain wasn’t happy with the booty his hostages had unloaded from the Explorer.

     “All Snyder brought with him was a couple of jars of food and some fishing gear?”

     He eyed Sarah suspiciously.

     “Are you
sure
you’re not trying to pull something on me? Did you leave the good stuff out there so you could go back and get it later?”

     He was getting paranoid again, and that wasn’t a good thing.

     “That’s all that was out there, sir. You can go and see for yourself if you want.”

     Sarah was taking a risk, but not a great one. If Swain had gone outside and found her message to Dave he’d have been furious. But he wasn’t going out, she was sure of it. He was certain now that the snipers were gunning for him specifically. That they probably had their weapons trained on the front door of the house at this very moment, just itching for him to stick his head through. No, he’d almost certainly stay inside where it was safe.

     She asked him, “What exactly did you think was out there, Mr. Swain?”

     “Hell, I don’t know. He drove into the yard firing his gun into the air, and whooping and hollering like a madman. I figured he must have come back with something really good, to announce himself with such fanfare. I figured he robbed some bank or something, and was coming back with a load of gold or silver coins or something.”

     He kicked one of the glass jars and sent it flying across the room.

     Sarah stifled a smile, but Swain couldn’t hide the wince on his face. In his stupor he’d forgotten he was barefoot, and stubbed his toe against the heavy glass jar.

     “Sir, maybe he was making a spectacle of himself about the vehicle itself. I mean, that’s a prize worth much more than any silver or gold. How many vehicles have
you
seen running since the power went out?”

     He pondered her suggestion.

     She did have a point.

     “And we didn’t get shot at while we were unloading it. Not even once. That may be because we were women. But if they’re out there trying to wipe us all out, then they’re heartless enough to shoot women and children. But they didn’t.”

     “What are you trying to say, Sarah?”

     “I’m suggesting the possibility that they may have given up. That it may be over. That they may have decided you’re too strong. That it’s not worth the effort. That there are other farms in the area that are easier to take than this one. And that maybe they’ve moved on to a softer target.”

     He pondered her new suggestion.

     But he wasn’t buying it.

     “Maybe. But I doubt it. They’ve put too much effort into this campaign just to give up on it. Those softer targets were there before they started killing my men. No, there’s something on this farm specifically that they want.”

     He looked at Sarah suspiciously.

     “Maybe you?”

     She ignored the implication.

     “I’m going out to the chicken coop to gather eggs. I’m sure everybody wants breakfast. Is that okay with you?”

     He didn’t like her tone, but let it pass.

     “Davis!”

     Davis called from the other room, “Yes, sir?”

     “Sarah’s going outside. Keep her in your sights and shoot her dead if she tries to run.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Garcia!”

     “Yes, sir?”

     “Unshackle the insurance policy and bring him into the living room. We’re going to make some changes.”

     The hostages spent the rest of the morning, at gunpoint, fortifying the first floor of the house. When they were finished the back door and all the downstairs windows had been boarded over, using shelves from all the closets in the house and headboards from most of the beds.

     Karen, pulling her turn as Swain’s insurance policy, was sitting on a dining room chair in the center of the living room, both hands cuffed behind her.

     Davis was seated in a recliner a few feet away. The recliner had been positioned so that it faced Karen directly. Davis had been ordered to keep his weapon trained on Karen. And to take her out at the first sign of trouble.

     Swain finished his lunch after watching Sarah taste it and before anyone else had a chance to eat.

     Then he barked orders.

     “Davis, I know you’re going on twenty hours and you’re tired. But I’ll relieve you soon, I promise. For now I want you to stay down here and keep your gun on our friend here. I’m going upstairs to relax a bit, then I’ll be down to relieve you.”

     Everyone in the house knew what he meant by “relaxing a bit.” He was in need of a fix. But maybe it would put him in a better mood.