Authors: William W. Johnstone

The Bleeding Edge (14 page)

BOOK: The Bleeding Edge

13.85Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SEVEN

Stark lunged to his feet and grabbed the walkie-talkie from his belt. As he started toward his pickup, he keyed the unit and said, “Stark here, Phil. On my way. How many incoming?”

“How many?” Phil asked someone else, then told Stark, “Four sets of headlights!”

“Fourâ”

Stark came to a sudden stop before he reached his truck. Something wasn't right. He turned and called to Hallie, who was on her feet as well, “Get in your dad's house! Stay there!”

“I can fightâ” she began.

“No, just get inside!”

He didn't look back to see if she followed his orders or not. He hoped she would, but there wasn't time to make sure. Instead he ran around the front of his pickup, threw himself behind the wheel, and cranked the engine. When it caught he threw the truck into gear, tromped the gas, and sent it screeching into motion as he called into the walkie-talkie, “Red alert! Red alert!”

He didn't speed toward the gate, though. Instead he careened around a corner and headed for the rear of the park.

The cartel wouldn't attack the retirement park with only four vehicles. Stark was sure of that. Which meant what was happening at the front gate was only a feint. The real strike would be somewhere else, and the most likely place was along the chain-link fence that ran across the back of the property.

The window of Stark's pickup was down. Even over the roar of the truck's engine he could hear the sound of air horns going off all over the park as word of the potential attack spread. Every house had one of the horns. The residents had pitched in to buy them, and if anybody couldn't afford one, the others picked up the slack.

That was the way things were supposed to work, with people helping out not because government forced them to but because it was the right thing to do. As soon as the captains started blowing their air horns, everybody else picked up on the signal and started spreading it as well. Nobody in Shady Hills was going to be taken by surprise tonight.

Or maybe they would be, Stark thought as he accelerated around another corner, if the real attack came from a direction they weren't looking.

He steered with one hand and brought the walkie-talkie to his mouth with the other. His thumb pushed the talk button.

“Nick! Doug! Bring your crews to the back of the park, repeat, the back of the park!”

“John Howard, is that you?” Nick Medford's voice crackled back at him.

“Yeah! Did you get my orders? Head for the rear fence!”

“But they're attacking the gate!” Nick protested.

“It's a trick! The rest of them are coming in the back!”

Stark hoped his hunch was right. If it wasn't, then he was splitting his forces for no good reason and the guards at the gate might be overwhelmed. Stark didn't really expect them to hold off the attack and prevent the cartel thugs from getting into the park, but he wanted them to slow down the assault long enough for everyone else to get ready for it. That shouldn't take long. They had been running drills for days now.

Stark turned another corner into a cul-de-sac that ended at the rear property line, and as he did the pickup's headlights washed over the chain-link fence. He was just in time to see a pickup running without lights crash through that fence, sending the tautly strung links snapping back crazily.

Stark slammed on the brakes and spun his truck's wheel. It turned and went into a slide that left him sitting broadside to the pickup that rumbled toward him. His shotgun was on the seat beside him. He picked it up, thrust the barrel through the open passenger-side window, and fired a load of buckshot at the onrushing vehicle. The windshield exploded into a million razor-sharp shards.

But the pickup kept coming, and Stark had no choice but to bail out. He threw his door open, dived from the pickup, and scrambled to his feet with the shotgun in both hands.

Behind him, the invaders' pickup T-boned his truck and knocked it over on its side. Gasoline splattered and burst into flame, and an instant later a fireball blossomed and engulfed both vehicles. The concussive force of the blast struck Stark in the back and made him stagger.

He caught his balance and whirled around, wincing slightly at the terrific heat that came off the flames. More engines roared. A couple of low-riders swerved around the inferno in the middle of the street, one to the right and the other to the left. Muzzle flashes stabbed from the windows of both cars.

Stark ran across the corner of a yard and dived behind a row of trash cans as bullets slammed into them, causing a lot of racket. He looked toward the fence and saw more cars and pickups coming through the gap the first pickup had rammed in it.

The attack wasn't proceeding without resistance, though. Windows from which the screens had been removed flew up in mobile homes on both sides of the street. Stark knew that inside those windows were homemade barricades that would protect the residents as they fought. More shots blasted as the defenders opened fire on the raiders with shotguns, deer rifles, .22s, and an assortment of handguns. The cartel's thugs suddenly found themselves in a cross fire.

Windows shattered in the vehicles. Some of them shuddered to a halt with steam and smoke pouring from under their hoods. Tires exploded as bullets pierced them, and sparks flew up from the asphalt as some of the cars were suddenly running on their rims.

Stark reached to the holster at the small of his back and pulled out his .45. He came up on one knee and drew a bead on a man who burst from one of the stopped vehicles with a chattering machine pistol in his hand. Stark fired a couple of well-aimed rounds and saw the gunner's head explode from the impact of the two heavy slugs. The machine pistol fell silent abruptly as its owner flopped to the ground.

Stark turned a little and fired again. This time his bullet cored through the chest of a thug yelling incoherent curses and firing a pistol. The invader stumbled, fell to his knees, and then pitched forward on his face to lie motionless.

Tires screeched as reinforcements for the defenders arrived. Cars and SUVs crowded into the far end of the cul-de-sac, and the volunteers led by Nick Medford and Doug Jacobs poured out of them. The men spread out across the yards of the homes along the short street, taking cover behind trees, garbage cans, and vehicles as they opened fire on the intruders.

Stark stayed where he was and continued lining up shots. So many bullets were flying around in the air that it would be dangerous to try to change position unless he had to. He squeezed off a shot and was rewarded by the sight of a cartel thug's arm jerking and then flopping loosely with a shattered elbow. The thug reeled behind a pickup, screaming in pain.

When Stark's .45 was empty, he ejected the clip and reached into his pocket for a fully loaded one he had stuck there earlier, before he knew there would be an attack tonight. As he slid the new clip into place, he glanced toward the front of the retirement park. He could hear shots from up there too and knew the battle was going on in both places.

A trio of thugs, each wielding a pump shotgun, burst from the cover of a low-rider and charged the volunteers blocking the street. Load after load of buckshot erupted from the shotguns, but the raiders made it only about ten yards before they were scythed off their feet by the deadly return fire from the defenders.

A second later, Stark realized that the foolhardy charge had been a diversion when he saw one of the cartel men kneeling next to a pickup with something balanced on his shoulder. Stark's eyes widened in shock. He had been joking when he'd mentioned a bazooka to Sheriff Lozano, but he saw now that the invaders were armed with something more up-to-date but equally dangerous.

The thug was aiming a grenade launcher at the defenders' vehicles blocking the entrance to the cul-de-sac!

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-EIGHT

Stark fired, the bullets from his automatic hammering into the man and knocking him to the side just as the rocket-propelled grenade erupted from the launcher, spewing a brilliant trail of fire behind it.

The launcher had been jolted into an upward angle as the man fell, however, so the grenade rose steadily as it flew through the air. It detonated high in the limbs of a cottonwood tree across the street, sending splinters flying everywhere.

Another man darted out from behind a car, making a try for the fallen grenade launcher. Stark was ready for him and drove him back with a couple of rounds. The man staggered back into cover, clutching a broken shoulder.

The nerve of the invaders was broken as well. Thanks to Stark's quick action and the timely arrival of the volunteers, the cartel thugs had been bottled up here in the cul-de-sac and were unable to spread their terror attack through the rest of the retirement park. Their attempt to break out using the grenade launcher had failed.

Now it was time to cut their losses and run.

That was what they did, falling back toward the fence as they kept up a heavy covering fire. Their vehicles were disabled with bullet-shredded tires and blown engines, so they fled on foot. Stark and his fellow defenders hurried them on their way with buckshot and bullets. The cartel's retreat, orderly at first, quickly turned into a full-blown, panic-stricken rout as the invaders abandoned the attack and ran for their lives.

The shooting gradually died away. Stark stood up from his crouch and surveyed the scene. Every porch light on the block was on, except the ones that had been shot out, and a number of floodlights mounted on the mobile homes blazed as well, casting plenty of illumination over the carnage in the street.

More than half a dozen bodies lay sprawled and motionless around the cartel's pickups and low-riders. Stark's own pickup, along with the vehicle that had slammed into it, were charred husks. He was sure there would be more bodies in the cartel pickup, too. He estimated the invaders' losses at ten or twelve dead, along with at least three times that many wounded. No telling what the toll had been at the gate, but the shooting from there had stopped, too, Stark noted.

Sheriff Lozano had warned him about causing a bloodbath. This came pretty close to fitting that description. But he and his friends hadn't caused it, Stark thought. All they had done was defend themselves from vicious, well-armed, ruthless invaders. No doubt they had paid a price to do that.

And no doubt they would continue to pay a price, Stark mused grimly. The battle was over . . . but not the war.

The first order of business was to check on the fallen invaders and make sure they were either dead or injured badly enough not to put up any more fight. Some of the volunteers helped Stark with that while others went door-to-door to check on the defenders and summon medical help for those who needed it. Several doctors and a number of nurses, all retired, lived in the park, and they had offered their services as medics until ambulances could get here from Devil's Pass.

The death toll among the invaders was slightly higher than Stark had estimated. They found fourteen corpses, including three in the burned-out pickup. Another five men were wounded and unconscious. Stark figured some of them would succumb to their injuries.

He used his walkie-talkie to check in with the forces at the gate.

“Nick, how are things up there? You copy, Nick?”

Nick Medford's voice came back, and Stark was relieved to hear that the man sounded like he was all right.

“We drove them off, Mr. Stark,” Nick reported. “They managed to get inside the gate, but then we shot out their tires and pinned them down, just like you talked about, and after a while they all piled into the two cars that were still running and got out of here.”

“Good job,” Stark told him. “Any casualties?”

Nick's voice became thick with emotion as he said, “JosÃ© Alvarez was killed.”

Stark drew a deep breath in through his nose as his jaw clenched. He didn't know his neighbor JosÃ© Alvarez well, but any loss affected all of them.

“Any others?” he asked.

“A couple of bullet wounds, but nothing too bad. We were lucky.”

Stark knew that was true. The invaders had spread around a lot of lead. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be very good shots. They had never had to be. They'd usually had the advantage of numbers and superior firepower.

Not tonight, though.

Except for that grenade launcher, of course.

Stark told Nick to let him know when the emergency vehicles got there from Devil's Pass, then went and picked up the launcher. It was U.S. military issue, of course, stolen from somewhere by the cartel.

He supposed they were fortunate that the invaders
hadn't
shown up tonight with a tank.

With things under control, Stark took out his cell phone and thumbed the speed dial number for Alton Duncan's house. When his next-door neighbor answered, Stark said, “Hey, Alton, everybody all right there?”

“John Howard!” Alton exclaimed. “Man, it's good to hear your voice! We were all worried about you.”

“Did Hallie stay there with you like I told her to?”

It wasn't Alton who answered the question, and as he heard Hallie's voice he realized that she had taken the phone away from her dad.

“Yes, I stayed here, but don't get used to giving me orders, John Howard,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Stark assured her. “Think I might've twisted my knee a little when I jumped out of my truck, but it's nothing to worry about.” He paused. “My truck, on the other hand, is a total loss.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I can replace it. You're sure everybody's all right there?”

“The fighting never got anywhere close to us,” Hallie said. “Is it over?”

“For now. Those fellas the cartel sent to run us off have done some running away themselves. The ones who still could, that is.”

“John Howard . . . were some of them killed?”

“More than a dozen,” Stark said flatly.

He heard Hallie sigh on the other end of the connection.

“You know this is just getting started, don't you? It's really going to hit the fan now.”

“I figured as much,” Stark said. “But what else were we gonna do? Let those animals bust in here, slaughter half of us, and send the rest running for the hills? We couldn't do that.”

“No, I know you couldn't. I'm just saying to get ready for more trouble, and it won't be the kind you can fight with shotguns and rifles this time.”

Stark smiled, even though she couldn't see him.

“I'm not worried,” he said. “I've got a good lawyer.”

BOOK: The Bleeding Edge

13.85Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads