The Collapse Series (Book 1): Perfect Storm, page 23
part #1 of The Collapse Series Series
The tires were difficult to improve. It wasn’t that the current tires were good–far from it–but they didn’t have access to anything better. They settled for throwing some snow chains in the trunk, just in case.
Timmy kept talking about durability. The need to keep this car going. They fitted space for extra jerry cans of fuel, tightened up the suspension, and fitted a garden light to the roof. As instructed, Alex cut holes in the hood for air flow and fitted skid plates to the underside of the car.
None of it seemed very professional but, as the days wore on, he was surprised by how quickly he was learning. The welds were stronger, the tools feeling lighter and less clumsy in his hands. The plans grew and grew. At one point, Timmy was talking about fitting a new engine. When he worked himself up into an excited fuss, he had to be talked down from the ledge.
Where were they going to get an engine?
Even the dog found a name. Finn. He’d taken a shine to Timmy, walking everywhere with him. Still recovering, the use of a walking stick meant the dog was often in danger of knocking his new friend to the ground. But it never quite happened. Neither Alex or Joan knew why that particular name had been chosen–Timmy wasn’t telling—but they didn’t want to argue. It seemed to fit.
One afternoon, with the evening encroaching on the day, reminding everyone how close October had come, Alex had been sent out to find a particular type of tow bar. They’d found a trailer for the car, were planning to fit the bikes to the back and take them to Virginia.
Along with Finn, Alex had checked every abandoned car in town until he’d eventually been able to untangle one from an old truck half buried under moss in a back yard. It sat in his pocket now, rifle slung across his shoulder, as he threw a stick down the street for the dog to chase.
The sound of crows scattering made him look up. Birds were few and far between. From the far end of the street, a diminished flock burst up over the horizon and flew overhead. They were fleeing from something. Alex felt the hairs on his arms stand to attention. He whistled for the dog.
Finn ran straight to his heel and followed as they ducked into one of the alleys leading off the main street. The sound of vehicles rumbled away in the distance. People were coming. Holding the dog close, praying that he didn’t make a sound, all Alex could do was watch as the heavy black vehicles rolled around the corner.
There was someone new in town.
Chapter 35
These cars were clean. They drove past Alex, waiting in the shadows with the dog, and he counted each vehicle as it went by. Dark tinted windows, oversized wheels, government-issue and expensive. Even the brand names were polished to perfection. Order among chaos. Seven of them, all black Cadillac Escalades.
They stopped at the halfway point of the main street, halting in a loose circle formation.
A man stepped out from the first vehicle with a metal briefcase in his hand. Kneeling, he opened it up in the middle of the street and removed a small satellite dish, adjusting it and pointing it upwards. He spoke words into the cuff of his sleeve, but Alex couldn’t hear what was being said. Of its own volition, his miniature device began to twist and spin, calibrating itself.
One by one, others began exit the vehicles. A select few wore suits. Others wore combat fatigues. All wore heavy Kevlar and sunglasses. In the movies, people like this always had some Velcro strap across their chest, a three-letter agency revealing where they’d come from.
From his hiding place, Alex couldn’t see any identifying marks. All he had were his assumptions, which told him the way these people moved meant they were government. Or military. Or agency. Or all three. Professionals, that much was certain.
Around the man with the satellite dish, the others began to form a circle. They were armed, some with pistols on their hips and others with an M-16 cradled in their hands. They spread out across the street, closing down the available space. One man was sweeping a device over every surface, noting down the measurements. Alex could hear the beeping and the clicking.
The dog strained against his hand. Alex stroked the fur between the ears, and Finn calmed down.
“Easy, boy.” Alex had never spoken so softly. “We’re just going to wait and see where they go. I bet they’ll be done soon.”
One by one, the new arrivals were inspecting the buildings just off the main street. Timmy and Joan, Alex hoped, were still back in the hideout. They’d not been tempted to go for a walk. As two of the men began to inspect the bar, they led with their guns.
Once inside, a shout came from one of the men. They’d found something. The news rippled through the others, each one suddenly sharp and focused. From his hiding place, Alex began to plot his escape route. He knew Rockton well now, knew which alleys he could take. But, in hardly any time, these men had begun to swamp every street and side road he had found.
An engine revved, far away. Someone yelling. One gunshot. And then another. Before Alex even knew what was happening, the men had swung open the doors of their cars and were now positioning themselves facing down the street, in the direction away from the church.
They were facing him.
Alex was in the middle. On the one side, he could see the guns being positioned, pointing. On the other, he could hear the shots and the shouting, growing ever closer. The engine again. Not a car. A dirt bike. Two of them. They were so close.
There they were, bending around the corner of the high street. Behind them, the copse where Alex and Timmy had hidden on the first night in town. They were peeling around it, making straight for the group of cars that had gathered outside the bar.
Those same gang members; Alex could see the tattoos. Their bikes were buzzing like a nest of wasps. One of them released his grip on the handle bars, pulled a gun from somewhere and opened fire. Backing into the dark corner, Alex almost felt the bullets streaming past his hiding place.
The others responded. Short, controlled bursts. They clipped the firing rider, knocking him to the ground. They didn’t wait for the other one to reach for his weapon. He was dropped, instantly, by a shot to the head. The bike fell out from under him, skidded along the road, and crashed into the first of the Cadillacs.
A pause.
Alex looked around. He could hear the government men reloading. They were expecting more trouble. Then it came, the louder, lower thrum of the heavy cars. The rest of the gang, arriving after them. He needed to get back to the house, to get back to Joan and Timmy. Looking down at the dog, he took a tight hold of the collar.
“Come with me. Right next to me. Understand?”
The dog whimpered and looked blankly up at Alex. Enough of an understanding. Feeling for the strap on his shoulder, Alex dragged round his rifle. The words Smith & Wesson looked up from the metal and he rubbed his thumb over the imprinted logo. Like rubbing a coin for good luck.
Already, Alex was regretting not bringing another clip. This one was full. Beyond that, he was on his own. One more time, he peeked around the corner, watching what he could of the street. The two crowds were facing one another down.
The government men–or whoever they were–had set up positions all across the street, facing the southern end. The gang sat and watched, waiting in their trucks. The big one, the one Saul had talked about, was nowhere to be seen. But the others lurked. A real Mexican standoff.
Finn barked. Heads turned on either side. A moment to slice the tension in two. Broken.
Shots fired. The dog was forgotten and Alex crouched down next to him. Tucked into the niche, set back from the gun fight, he could feel the snapping of the air as the hail of bullets tore past. The street was being picked apart, one bullet at a time.
Alex looked down at his rifle. One magazine. One gun. One man. No way to fight through all of this. Better to just get back to the others, make sure they were safe. And then run. He had to stay hidden. Had to stay out of sight.
A hundred feet to the hideout, at least. Alex was on the wrong side of the street, sitting almost exactly in the middle of the two fighting forces. A chunk of wood exploded into a million splinters above his head. Someone had missed their shot.
The dead neon sign above Danny Boy’s was shattering, each shot it caught breaking apart the colored glass in a new kaleidoscopic flare.
The professionals had set up their base. They opened the doors of their Cadillacs and leaned from behind, shooting in short controlled bursts. The cars must have been armored, Alex thought. Rolling barriers, circled and defensive.
At the other end, the gang members were trying a different approach. Their hollowed-out SUVs and dirt bikes didn’t offer the same protection. The men had scattered into the alleys and the houses. They were worming their way through the back streets, turning the entire town into a battlefield.
As the professionals circled their wagons, gathered around themselves, the shots started coming from all angles.
Alex had to move. Snapping his fingers at Finn, he began to run. At the other end of the street, the steeple of the chapel rose above almost everything. Right next to the hideout. Their car was in the garage behind. The guiding light, bringing him home.
Turning right, Alex ducked down an alley, away from the main street. There was a dirt road on this side, lined with ancient sycamore trees. Their trunks were thick, their leaves hanging low over the road and about to turn a golden brown in the fall. As he tucked into the space, up against the bark, he could see long-lost lovers’ initials carved into the wood.
With Finn at his heels, Alex ran again. From tree to tree, and when he was in line with the professionals and their Cadillac barricade, he switched sides.
He pressed up against the back entrance of the bar. The noise was deafening. Between the wet slaps of the automatic fire and the shimmering metal clink of the falling casings, he didn’t need to worry about being quiet. Every sound he made was lost in the storm of gunfire.
Alex kicked against one of the back doors of the bar. It gave way. There was no one else inside, he could tell. The air was still, the sound from outside muffled. The gang members had ransacked the innards, turning over everything in their search for valuables and booze.
Keeping low, worried about stray bullets, Alex made the short run to the front of the bar, jumping and avoiding the obstacles, the broken furniture scattered everywhere.
From the bar, facing the street, Alex could see straight into the heart of the fight. Out from Danny Boy’s into the circled Cadillacs, with professionals on either side, shooting outwards. Every pane of glass in the front of the bar was gone.
Crawling into the space below the window, every sneaker step found the shattered shards and they crunched beneath the feet.
A line of shots rattled in through the window, eating chunks of plaster out of the ceiling. The heavy thud of the bullets lodging into the building could be felt in the chest.
Finn nestled up against Alex’s legs, the sheer volume almost too much. With a hand, he tried to offer the dog comfort. But it would get worse before it got better.
There was no door anymore in the bar. Probably kicked out by the gang members. It didn’t matter. They had to cross the street. The safest way was to run straight through the center of the professionals.
They were facing outwards; their armored cars would provide some cover. Alex’s T-shirt and jeans didn’t fit with either team’s uniform. This might cause confusion, at least for a moment. Enough for him to slip through to the other side of the street.
There had been a long mirror laid out behind the bar. It had been broken a long time ago. Before they pulled into Rockton on their bikes, at the very least. But there were still pieces of the mirror strewn across the floor.
Alex fetched one, retreating back to his position beside the door. Pulling Finn in close, he leaned the shard of mirror out into the empty space.
There it was. The other side of the street. A small gap between two buildings which would take him right into the alley behind the drug store. From there, it was a short run to the gate and the wall behind the hideout. Without distractions, it could be done in thirty seconds, easily. But this wasn’t a clear run.
Alex looked down at the rifle in his hand. He heard round after round thumping into buildings all above his head. The dog tilted its head to the side, watching. This was the moment. They had to move. The shard of mirror chimed against the floor as Alex ran out of the door and into the fray.
Chapter 36
He ran out through the door, into the street, straight for a gap between two hulking black Escalades. The dog ran at his side, its head held low. There was no need to shift the rifle from his back, to hold it in his hands. Any firefight would be lost before he had a chance to let loose a shot.
Instead, Alex ran deeper and deeper into the hornet’s nest and listened to the bullets buzzing overheard.
From the other end of the street, the gang members were firing. Whereas the professionals were grouped together in one tactical unit, their opponents had spread out across the town. Some were climbing up buildings, others running through side streets. They were circling around him, closing in. One, Alex could see from the corner of his eye, snapped and ran straight for the ring of armored vehicles.
He was gunned down in a second, his body twitching in the street.
But no one watched Alex. Every eye focused on the enemy. No one expected a stranger to run, sprinting, from one of the abandoned buildings. It was the only free space in the town. Run through the back streets, he’d be gunned down in a second. Try to hide, they’d find him in an instant as the bullets blistered through the air. Besides, he had to act fast. He had to get back to the others. He had to take the risk. He ran.
Each footstep was lost amid the whirring gunfire, the snap of the sonic booms, and the metallic rainfall of empty casings striking the ground. One man running was not enough to be heard.
Still, Alex stayed low.
Even if he was not seen, a stray bullet could catch him in the leg or the chest. Out there, there might be one round with the name ALEX EARLY stamped along the side. He could survive a plague and die of lead poisoning.
Finn, still running on puppy legs, followed his every step. When the human stopped, the dog halted. When the human ducked or weaved to a side, the dog echoed the movement.
Running from the bar to the ring of cars, they synchronized their movement and, abruptly, Alex found himself pressed up against the cold metal of an Escalade trunk, gray bullet marks chipped away at the black paint. He ducked, salvaging his breath.
Right next to him was the portable satellite, still whirring and turning, locking into position. Casually, leaning out, Alex knocked the device to the floor. The dish still tried to turn, the internal motor struggling. All above, bullets zipped through the air.
It stopped. Broken.
No one had seen him. For a second, Alex watched. These professionals moved with a skill served only by practice. As the gun emptied, their hands worked together, flipping around the triple-stacked magazine, eyes never dipping from the targets on the horizon.
Even those in suits worked with the same, steady hands. Professionals was the right word, he knew.
Alex ran again. No time to waste.
He darted through the cars, waiting for someone to spot him.
But they focused on the gang members, still coming at them from the other end of the street. The exit was there. The gap between the last two cars, the space to run through and he’d be out on the other side, ready to run right down the alley.
There was one man, suited with a tangle of white cord wrapped up over his ear, balanced beside the gap. He was holding an M-16, swiveling his hips and aiming along the rooftops. Every few seconds, he’d release a short, sharp burst.
A red cloud might burst into life on a distant roof top. A body might crumple against the ground, weapon clattering from lifeless fingers.
Alex would have to squeeze into the space behind him. Best to take it at a run.
Clicking to Finn, he broke into a sprint.
There were ten feet between him and the gap, then seven, then five. The man turned around, spotted Alex, started shouting. The words fell on deaf ears.
The guns were too loud, Alex moving too fast. The man held up a hand, making his demands clear.
Stop.
No time to stop. Alex had the speed. Before the man could swing his gun around and aim, Alex leapt. Into the air, hurling his feet first. A messy, unpracticed kind of kick. Both legs up before him, thighs flexing at just the right moment, the soles of both sneakers landed hard on the man’s chest. He fell.
Alex hit the ground too, but he’d been expecting it. Finn beside him, he rolled, got back to his feet, and ran the last few feet to the space between the cars. There it was. Someone was shouting behind him. Didn’t matter. Keep running. Cross the open street. Duck to avoid any bullets. Into the alley, screeching on heels slipping in the dirt as the corner came. Run around the corner and stop.
Shoulders curled up tight, lungs caught in a vice, Alex felt like he was about to vomit. Now, he turned to grab his rifle. If all the professionals were tucked away in their circled wagons, the gang members might be anywhere.
To make it through this last distance, this short sprint to the rear of the house, he’d need to be careful. A time for stealth.
Two hands grabbed Alex by the neck and threw him to the ground. His spine caught the brunt of the fall, the pain sending shockwaves down his back and into his legs. Scrambling to his feet, he saw one of the professional men standing above him, two dusty footprints stamped across the lapels of his black suit.
He moved for the rifle, but the man was faster. He kicked the ankles out from under Alex before he could even loosen the strap from his shoulder. The rifle fell to the ground, a sound lost amid the firefight a street over. Dropping elbow first on to Alex’s chest, the man grunted. It felt like a rib cracking.
