Part 3 (2/2)
He scanned the front of the house slowly with the night-vision scope, searching for any signs of movement. He panned to the right of the house and then to the left. He turned his attention to Jake's front yard. There was no movement to be found.
A single drop of rain landed on Geram's forehead. He turned and whispered to Jake, ”I don't see any movement in the windows or on either side of the house. The right side of the place has only one window. If you approach from that direction, you'll have less chance of being spotted by someone inside.
I want you to stay low and move slow until you reach the front corner. Once there, climb over the porch rail and stay along the wall. Make sure you move under the windows, not in front of them. Stop just shy of the front door.
Once you're in position I'll come up behind you. When I tap you on the shoulder, crouch low and push through the door. At that point I want you to turn on your rifle light and swing right. I'll have to use my pistol at that point, so you'll be our primary gun. As I clear the door frame, I'll turn on my light and swing left. Got it?”
Jake nodded and replied, ”Got it.”
The rain intensified, while thunder rumbled in the distance.
”One more thing; you know the house as good as anyone. As soon as we clear the entrance, move us to the next door that'll get us through the house the safest, without exposing our backs to gunfire. We go room to room and we don't stop until the whole house is clear, even if we find them, Jake. We have to save ourselves before we can save anyone else.”
”Okay.”
”Remember, two shots center ma.s.s. Not a double tap, we aim every shot. No questions, no threats, just engage.”
”Understood.”
”Okay bro, now get moving.”
Chapter 7.
Frank West Mississippi Franklin Thames waved to the Bronco as Kate drove off. He shut the door and returned to the kitchen. He took the remainder of the venison tenderloin out of the sink and began to slice it into thin steaks. He dipped in a combination of yard eggs and fresh milk and then rolled them in flour. Once they were thoroughly coated, he gently laid them in the cast-iron skillet. The steaks crackled and popped in the hot oil.
Frank opened the oak cabinet and retrieved a tumbler. He grabbed a bottle from atop the cabinet, poured some scotch into the gla.s.s and swooshed it around before finally taking a sip. Frank peered out of his dirty kitchen window at the pastures behind his home as he took another sip of the single-malt. He afforded himself only an occasional drink. He would have loved to indulge more often, but in such times one preserved the finer vestiges of life as long as one could.
Frank flipped the steaks over in the skillet, before turning and rummaging through the pantry. He searched among the various canned and dry goods for several moments before finally clutching the container of cane syrup. The sweet solution was from a batch that was several years old. It had been a gift from an old friend, an expert of the trade. The half-empty jar was all that he had left from his friend. Times had been hard on people.
The syrup would go perfectly with the steaks he was frying and the biscuits that his wife had warming in the oven. He placed the jar on the kitchen table and produced an old bra.s.s lighter from his pocket. With it, he lit three large candles that occupied the center of the table, before sitting down.
Mrs. Thames rested her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Slowly, she made her way to the stove. She removed the last of the steaks from the skillet and placed them on a plate.
”Are you cooking for an army, Franklin Thames?” she asked.
”Jake and Kate and his brother are coming by after church. I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you.”
”It's alright dear. Things've been so different lately it's easy to forget. I'll make some more biscuits.” She placed the venison on the table in front them and sat down. ”What were you two talking about on the porch?”
”Jake asked us to move in with them. One house is easier to keep watch over and he said they'd help safe up the livestock. I think we should do it, at least until things get better.”
”I think it's a wonderful idea, dear.”
Frank arose and grabbed a small bowl to pour the syrup in. They ate the few biscuits she had prepared as well as several of the steaks, before contently retiring to their living room. Frank reclined in his leather chair and pulled a hand-rolled cigarette out of his s.h.i.+rt pocket.
”I might let you get away with smoking in the house old man, but if I've known Kate Sellers a day, I know she certainly won't.”
”Maybe so woman, but I'm not in Kate's house yet.” Frank smiled at her as he lit the cigarette and took the first drag.
”You better watch your tone old man, or I'll leave you here all by yourself. Then who'll listen to you bellyache?”
They laughed. Frank climbed out of his chair and disappeared into the kitchen. He emerged with two tumblers, one half full and one with just a splash of scotch.
”Here you go, my dear.”
”What's this? You know I can't stand the taste of that mess.”
”I know, but this deserves a toast.” He handed her the gla.s.s. ”To a house full of kids, again.”
”I suppose I can drink to that, just this once.” She smiled as they clinked their tumblers. She took the tiniest sip of the caramel colored liquid. ”Please, tell me again how you drink this.”
”One sip at a time, my dear. I'm going to finish this gla.s.s and take a nap. Wake me up in an hour or so, please.”
”Alright, I'll make some more biscuits and put up the steaks until they get here.” She struggled to her feet, before slowly walking back into the kitchen. Frank finished the scotch in two large gulps, smashed the cigarette in the ash tray and closed his eyes.
The headlights in the driveway awoke Frank from his nap. He eased out of his leather recliner, walked to the window and peaked out of the blinds. The vehicle's silhouette was larger than what he had antic.i.p.ated, but his mind was still foggy from his nap. He stared out of the slit as he tried to process what he was seeing.
Four armed men quietly slipped out of the dark SUV and carefully moved towards the front door. His heart jumped and his pulse quickened. His muddled mind finally understood. He turned and moved towards the kitchen as quickly as his stiff body would allow. Frank yelled to his wife, ”Margaret, hide! We've got trouble!”
There was no response.
He fumbled about in the dark kitchen, searching for the lever action carbine he kept loaded and ready. Where was it?
Finally, he brushed against the walnut stock of the carbine. Frank pulled it tightly to his shoulder as he heard something crash against the front door. The reinforced frame held true and bought Frank a few extra moments to gather his thoughts and get in position behind the kitchen counter.
He welded cheek to the stock and peered down the barrel. He steadied his aim. The front sight was blurry to his old eyes, but the door was clear as ever. The living room windows welcomed in the illumination of the large moon that still hung in the sky. He said a silent prayer and counted his blessings, however small. An hour later and the moon would likely have been hidden by the storm clouds that were drifting his way.
Again, the intruder crashed into the door. Frank fired two rounds through the door with brutal efficiency. It sounded as if it had been a burst from a semi-automatic rifle. The ancient carbine's action was as smooth as b.u.t.ter. Thames worked the lever forward, then back; forward, then back. He heard a thud on the porch outside. A man's voice erupted with groans and curses as he writhed painfully on the wooden planks.
Another man tried to lean in and fire into the house, but Frank hit him squarely in the forehead. The intruder never made a sound as his knees buckled and he slid down the wall, not the Frank could have heard anything. His ears perceived nothing, save the high-pitched ringing that plagued them.
He slid a counter drawer open and fumbled with the box of ammo that was inside. At the same time, he tried to maintain watch of the front door. Frank had four rounds remaining in the carbine.
Suddenly, a blur leaped past the opening of the door. Immediately afterwards a fourth intruder pushed his rifle into the opening and fired a dozen rounds indiscriminately. Frank pressed himself tightly against the floor. He had dropped the box of ammo as the rounds had begun to fly. Cartridges were strewn all about him. He grabbed several of them and stuffed them in his pocket. Frank found several more and pushed them into the carbine.
He watched the drywall explode around him as the intruder's rounds perforated his home. Canning jars burst like bombs and debris flew through the air. Dust and smoke filled the kitchen. Frank tried to stand and return fire, but a second volley filled the air around him again. He crawled out from behind the counter and along the wall until he reached the kitchen's threshold. From there, he could safely peer into the living room and beyond.
His body ached from the awkward movements that it was not accustomed to. He alternated between trying to count the number of rounds that were fired at him and praying for at least Margaret's life to be spared, if not his own. He leaned around the threshold and steadied his sights at the wall beside the front door. As the intruder's rifle swung into view for a third volley, Frank unloaded all seven rounds into an area the size of a tombstone in the wall. He sighed with relief as he watched the rifle clatter to the porch.
Thames rolled onto his side and coughed in pain. Only then did he realize he had been shot in the legs and his shoulder. Maybe he did not dive to the floor for cover, he thought to himself. Perhaps he had collapsed.
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