After Darkness Fell by David Berardelli Page A

Shrugging off my wounds and tending to business.
    I had to become a soldier again. That same cold-blooded killer I’d been when I was a foolish kid who took dangerous chances because I’d thought I was invincible, and would live forever.
    But now I was no longer a kid, had seen death in all its forms, and knew I wouldn’t live forever. The love of my life had just vanished, and my gut told me it wasn’t her idea.
    Fields had been taken. Kidnapped. On our own property.
    Someone had snuck up to her, overpowered her and taken her away.
    Fired up and shaking with rage, I felt my former self coming back quickly. I knew right then that I’d been a dickhead for showing weakness. Fields depended on me and I wouldn’t let her down. We were a team, and when one of the team was attacked, the other burst into action.
    I slammed the kitchen door behind me. With the aid of the flashlight, I immediately set about gathering a few things. I had no idea how long my search would take or how long I’d be gone, but I was reasonably sure I’d be hunting for Fields through the night. But how long would it take before I’d covered the entire 88 acres? How long would it be before I picked up her trail?
    I knew right then that it didn’t matter.
    I was going to find her and didn’t care how long it took.
    I picked up two cans of tuna, some beef jerky and three small bottles of water. I found a metal flask and got a pint of bourbon from the cupboard. I filled the flask and grabbed a hunting knife from the top of the dresser. From the medicine cabinet in the bathroom across the hall from the kitchen, I grabbed a small first-aid kit. From my grandmother’s sewing stuff in a kitchen drawer I picked up a small emergency kit containing needles and thread. I put everything on the kitchen table and went upstairs to look for the small black backpack I’d found a few weeks ago in an abandoned store in Bakerstown.
    Satisfied I’d found everything I needed, I loaded the backpack.
    Since I didn’t know what I faced, I decided that the best ammo would be the standard .22. It was small and light, and also good for long range shooting. For closer, more effective work, I’d need a lighter weapon with a larger caliber. For extremely close work, I decided on a gun small enough to fit in my pants pocket.
    I grabbed Fields’ .38 Ladysmith and clipped it and its pancake holster onto my belt in the small of my back. I also selected the tiny .22 Beretta Bobcat, and the .22 Ruger Mark II target pistol with a 6-inch slab barrel and shoulder holster. I shrugged into the holster, adjusting the strap until I barely felt it over my sweatshirt. I found two extra mags for the Beretta, two for the Ruger, four speed loaders for the .38, and loaded them into the backpack. Then I picked up a box containing a thousand rounds of .22 long rifle ammo and packed that as well.
    I slipped on an ammo belt I’d picked up at a local sporting goods store. The belt contained pouches for four mags, two pouches for knives and a larger one for loose ammo. I filled the pouches with two speed loaders and two penknives and dumped about forty rounds of .22 mini mag ammo into the pouch.
    This done, I went down to the cellar to turn off the generator, came back upstairs and put on my lightweight jacket. I found three penlights, put two in my breast pocket, one in the backpack, and zipped everything shut. I shrugged into the backpack and adjusted the straps, positioning it high on my back so it didn’t interfere with the Ruger under my jacket.
    Less than half an hour after I’d entered the house, I went back outside, locked the door and rushed over to the small rock garden that sat at the foot of the hill, about fifty feet from the kitchen door. Several weeks ago, I’d placed a small plastic Tupperware container beneath one of the rocks. The container held a set of spare keys to the house, garage and vehicles, as well as a small .38 snub nosed revolver loaded with six hollowpoint rounds.