get upstairs.’
Just as I said it, there was a detonation from outside. One of the cars exploding? No. That wasn’t it. Someone had thrown an explosive device against the side of the house. The blast was followed by the tinkle of glass shattering, the rumble of falling masonry.
Diversionary tactic, I decided. Why would they bother blasting a way inside when there were so many windows and doors to come in by? Whatever the reason, it didn’t bode well. My initial thought was to take the family to an upper floor where I’d have more chance of defending them. Little good the high ground would do, though, if grenades were thrown in through the windows at us.
Someone popped into the open front door, a bird-like figure with a hawk nose and large Adam’s apple. He fired, and so did I. Neither bullet found its mark as both of us jerked away. Then I was back at the door to the kitchen. I met Don and Millie, each carrying a terrified bundle in their arms. ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘Get back behind the island.’
‘We can’t stay here!’ Millie cried.
There was a thump at the back door, proving her right. I unslung the second rifle from my shoulder, while passing the first to Don. Encumbered by Beth hanging tightly to his neck, and the meat cleaver in his hand, Don almost dropped the rifle. He allowed the cleaver to fall instead and brought up the gun.
‘Don’t know how many rounds are left,’ I told him, ‘so use them wisely.’
There was another splintering thud on the door, and I snapped my gaze that way. Why were they using an axe when they had grenades that would blast the door into fragments?
The thought was fleeting. What did it matter? An axe would get them inside soon enough. Lifting the rifle, I flicked it to semi-auto and fired a short burst directly through the door. It was gratifying to hear another thud, this time as a dead weight fell to the ground.
Glass tinkled, someone lifting a gun through the hole he’d just smashed in the kitchen window. The gun rattled and pots and pans lifted off a counter next to Don. The old man returned fire, but his aim was panicked and wide and drilled holes in the ceiling. Bethany squealed at the rapid chatter of gunfire so close to her face.
‘Get out! Get out!’ I yelled as I swung to offer covering fire.
I shot at the window, blasting it to smithereens, but also forcing the attacker to throw himself down to avoid being cut to ribbons. Don, Millie and the kids all scrambled past me to get into the vestibule. I swung after them: the hallway was a shooting gallery if another attacker had made it inside.
Luckily the front door remained open and no shadow lurked there. Perhaps the bird-like man who’d ducked outside moments before had gone off in search of a safer route of ingress. I wasn’t familiar with the layout of the house, but it was an easy guess that the door opposite led into a utility room. I didn’t bother with the handle, just booted the door open and shoved the others inside. I followed, slamming the door and putting my back to the wood. If nothing else I’d stop the bullets before they reached the children.
Shouts filtered into the room. Men were climbing into the kitchen via the shattered window. If I’d urged the family into a dead end . . . well, we were supremely fucked. However, I found that my assumption held some logic. We were in a room furnished with a washing machine, dryer and a dishwasher. From a water heater on the wall pipes led away to the ceiling and floor. I gestured at a small hatch in the wall. ‘Through there, quick.’
Millie glanced down at the SIG in my hand. ‘Give me a gun.’
‘Forget it; just get everyone through the hatch while we have time.’
‘But I can help.’
‘You can help by doing what I ask. Go, Millie. We’ve only got seconds before they come through that door.’
Millie opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. She turned, hitching Ryan in her arms, even as Don placed Beth down. The
Just as I said it, there was a detonation from outside. One of the cars exploding? No. That wasn’t it. Someone had thrown an explosive device against the side of the house. The blast was followed by the tinkle of glass shattering, the rumble of falling masonry.
Diversionary tactic, I decided. Why would they bother blasting a way inside when there were so many windows and doors to come in by? Whatever the reason, it didn’t bode well. My initial thought was to take the family to an upper floor where I’d have more chance of defending them. Little good the high ground would do, though, if grenades were thrown in through the windows at us.
Someone popped into the open front door, a bird-like figure with a hawk nose and large Adam’s apple. He fired, and so did I. Neither bullet found its mark as both of us jerked away. Then I was back at the door to the kitchen. I met Don and Millie, each carrying a terrified bundle in their arms. ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘Get back behind the island.’
‘We can’t stay here!’ Millie cried.
There was a thump at the back door, proving her right. I unslung the second rifle from my shoulder, while passing the first to Don. Encumbered by Beth hanging tightly to his neck, and the meat cleaver in his hand, Don almost dropped the rifle. He allowed the cleaver to fall instead and brought up the gun.
‘Don’t know how many rounds are left,’ I told him, ‘so use them wisely.’
There was another splintering thud on the door, and I snapped my gaze that way. Why were they using an axe when they had grenades that would blast the door into fragments?
The thought was fleeting. What did it matter? An axe would get them inside soon enough. Lifting the rifle, I flicked it to semi-auto and fired a short burst directly through the door. It was gratifying to hear another thud, this time as a dead weight fell to the ground.
Glass tinkled, someone lifting a gun through the hole he’d just smashed in the kitchen window. The gun rattled and pots and pans lifted off a counter next to Don. The old man returned fire, but his aim was panicked and wide and drilled holes in the ceiling. Bethany squealed at the rapid chatter of gunfire so close to her face.
‘Get out! Get out!’ I yelled as I swung to offer covering fire.
I shot at the window, blasting it to smithereens, but also forcing the attacker to throw himself down to avoid being cut to ribbons. Don, Millie and the kids all scrambled past me to get into the vestibule. I swung after them: the hallway was a shooting gallery if another attacker had made it inside.
Luckily the front door remained open and no shadow lurked there. Perhaps the bird-like man who’d ducked outside moments before had gone off in search of a safer route of ingress. I wasn’t familiar with the layout of the house, but it was an easy guess that the door opposite led into a utility room. I didn’t bother with the handle, just booted the door open and shoved the others inside. I followed, slamming the door and putting my back to the wood. If nothing else I’d stop the bullets before they reached the children.
Shouts filtered into the room. Men were climbing into the kitchen via the shattered window. If I’d urged the family into a dead end . . . well, we were supremely fucked. However, I found that my assumption held some logic. We were in a room furnished with a washing machine, dryer and a dishwasher. From a water heater on the wall pipes led away to the ceiling and floor. I gestured at a small hatch in the wall. ‘Through there, quick.’
Millie glanced down at the SIG in my hand. ‘Give me a gun.’
‘Forget it; just get everyone through the hatch while we have time.’
‘But I can help.’
‘You can help by doing what I ask. Go, Millie. We’ve only got seconds before they come through that door.’
Millie opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. She turned, hitching Ryan in her arms, even as Don placed Beth down. The
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