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Message-ID: <27759asstr$976187405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Al Steiner" <steiner_al@hotmail.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 07 Dec 2000 00:13:23 EST
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Aftermath by Al Steiner - Ch 7 (MMF, reluct) 2/2
Date: Thu,  7 Dec 2000 06:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

AFTERMATH
CHAPTER 7 PART 2/2
By Al Steiner
Send comments to steiner_al@hotmail.com
Previous chapters can be found at www.storiesonline.net




Meanwhile, at guard position 3, Bill had already determined that all three
of his targets were down.  One quick glance inside the upstairs bedroom had
been enough to convince him, which was a good thing since one quick glance
was all he could take, so strong were the odors.

By the time they made it back down the stairs and outside, the sound of
gunfire from the west reached their ears.  It was very faint, barely audible
over the constant sound of the rain, but it was unmistakable.  There was
shooting from the first guard post.  Shooting meant that something had gone
wrong.

We need to get over there as fast as we can," Bill told his men as he
shouldered his rifle.  "Follow me.  Keep a sharp eye out and make triple
time.  Let's go!"

They began to run through the streets, their feet splashing through the
puddles.


+++++


Faintly, over the sounds of the rain Michelle heard a male voice yelling
something, the tone that of an order.  Only three words were clear from the
entire statement: "We're moving in."

Though not a military expert by any means, Michelle knew what that phrase
had to mean.  They were going to attempt to storm her position.  She leapt
to her feet so fast it looked like she had been burned.  Moving at a speed
she would not have thought possible, she dove through the bedroom door and
tore around the corner of the hall, the M-16 in one hand, the radio in the
other.  She threw herself back to the carpet next to the staircase, pointing
the rifle between two slats of the railing.  She now had a clear shot of the
front door, the most likely avenue of entry.  It was still closed and
locked, just like it should be.  If they came through the back instead, this
was still the ideal place since they would have to pass in front of her
before they could mount the stairs.

Keeping on hand on the rifle, she keyed the walkie-talkie.  "Brett," she
yelled into it, "This is position two.  We're under attack!"

Before he could answer her, the front door was kicked violently open.  Two
men with pistols in their hands tried to rush through it.  She let the radio
drop from her hands and gripped the M-16.  It was currently set on single
fire but that was not a serious disadvantage.  She began to shoot, pulling
the trigger as fast as her finger could perform the motions.  The two men
were both killed before they made it more than two steps into the house.
They dropped in the entryway, spilling blood on the marble tile.

Michelle, who had no idea that she had just killed the leader of the
attackers, kept the rifle trained out over the doorway, waiting for more to
try their luck.  From the radio next to her, Brett's voice was asking her to
repeat what she had just said.


+++++


"There's someone still in there!" one of the hunters outside yelled as he
heard the gunfire.

"Shit," someone else put in.  "They must've got John and Pete!"

"John!" another began to scream, hoping for an answer.  "John, you all
right?"

Silence was the only answer and the men, now reduced to four in number,
shifted their rifles back and forth uneasily, not knowing what to do next.
John had been their leader!  Though they had turned into fairly accomplished
fighting men since the comet, none of them had the ability to lead and make
critical fighting decisions.  John and Bill had deliberately withheld such
training and practice from them in fear of having one of the underlings try
to take over.

Not knowing what to do next, they did nothing, simply holding in place.
Bill would come soon, they knew.  Bill would be able to tell them what to
do.


+++++


Brett, like most people in town, had been eating breakfast in the gym.  He
was sitting at a table with Paul and Matt, who had taken his mental health
night off the previous evening and was therefore enjoying the novelty of
eating breakfast with everyone else.  The three men had been quietly
discussion the possibility of organizing the other men in defiance of voting
Stacy from town.   Though they agreed that it would segregate the town along
gender lines and send a message that they, as men, had the power to veto any
decision by mere women, they really didn't see any other avenue to choose.

"I don't want that," Paul was saying.  "I want every person in this town to
be equally represented in voting, just like it should be, but goddammit,
these women are proving themselves unworthy of that right.  They're allowing
themselves to have their opinions molded by an egocentric bitch who's not
just locked up in pre-comet attitudes, but pre-twentieth century attitudes
as well."

"It's a drastic step," Matt, the historian, said.  "We have to ask ourselves
if we're willing to set such a precedent for this one person.  What we do
here will have ramifications that stretch far into the future.  Now I like
Stacy a lot and I like Jason too, but there is more than just their fates at
risk here.  Do we really want to set up a society where the men have the
power to disregard the majority's rule just because we're men?"

While that point lingered in the air, Brett's walkie-talkie, which he
carried with him everywhere, night and day, suddenly came to life.

"Brett," came Michelle's excited voice from the speaker.  "This is position
2.  We're under attack!"

"Did she say attack?" Paul asked as Brett frantically pulled the
walkie-talkie from his belt.

"Michelle, this is Brett," he said into it.  "Repeat your message.
Confirming you're under attack?"

By now several people around them had heard her voice and Brett's reply.
They all stopped what they were doing to stare.

"Michelle!" Brett said into the radio when he didn't receive an answer.
"Michelle, are you there?  Give me an update?"

Still there was nothing.  "Shit," Brett muttered.  He looked up at Paul.
"Get the armory open right now and start loading guns."

"Right," Paul said, leaping to his feet.

"Matt, go help him," Brett said.  "Grab a few people on your way out and
have them help too.  This is the big one until proven otherwise.  Start
preparing for a full-scale invasion for now.  I'll start sending people in
to you in a moment.  Get a good sized squad ready and then get outside with
a radio and take up defensive positions around the building."

"Right," Matt said, jumping to his feet and rushing over to several people
that he knew to be reliable enough to help.  He grabbed them and followed
Paul out the door.

By now an excited murmur was racing around the room as the word was passed.
Brett tried to get Michelle on the radio again and again she didn't answer.
He began to get a sinking feeling in his gut.  He keyed the radio again.
"Positions 1,3,4, and 5, check in right now and in order," he barked.

Chrissie's voice immediately answered back at him.  "Position 1 here," she
said.  "We're okay, nothing happening."

"Copy Chrissie," he said, "keep a sharp eye out and stand by.  Something's
going on.  Position 3, are you there?"

Nothing.

"Position 3," he repeated.  "Jeff, Lenny, answer the fucking radio if you're
there.  This is an emergency!"

Still nothing.  Were they just screwing around in another room, as those two
were known to do, or were they dead?  He had to assume the worst.

Before he could check with position 4 or 5, Michelle's voice returned.
"Brett, this is Michelle, are you there?"

With a silent sigh of relief, he keyed the microphone.  "I'm here Michelle.
What's going on?"

"My position had been attacked by at least six people, maybe a lot more.
They're inside the wall Brett and they have rifles and pistols.  They tried
to throw some sort of nerve gas canisters in through the window!"

"Nerve gas?" several people who were listening in said in fear.  "Oh my
god."

"I dropped two of them outside the window of the post and their canisters
exploded outside.  Then they opened fire on us from the west side of the
house, shooting through the wall.  Brenda is down and probably dead.  I
repeat, Brenda is down and probably dead.  I dropped two more in the doorway
when they tried to storm the house.  I haven't seen or heard anything since
then."

"Your status now?" he asked her.  "Are you injured?"

"I have a wound on my arm from shrapnel and I'm very sick to my stomach,
probably from inhaling some of the gas that drifted up.  But I can hold on."

"Are you sure?"

"Affirmative," she said confidently.  "I'm at the top of the stairs covering
the entrance to the house."

"Okay," he told her.  "Hold in place.  We're assembling people right now and
we'll be out to you as soon as we can.  Keep in contact."

"Copy," she said.

Now that he had some hard information, he tried once again to get hold of
position 3, again without response.  He found their failure to answer a
particularly ominous sign now.  He checked with 4 and 5 and both of these
positions answered right away.  He repeated the order for them to hold in
place and then put the walkie-talkie back in his pocket.  He looked around
the gym at all the anxious faces staring at him.

"Listen up!" he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear.  "Everyone who
can shoot a gun, move to the armory and get one.  We're under attack people
and we need to fight them off."

An excited babble began although no one made any move to leave the room.

"This is not the time to talk!" Brett yelled.  "Get to the fucking armory
now!  People are dead and there is going to be a lot more if we don't do
something about it.  Now MOVE!"

They moved, responding to the tone of command in his voice.  While they were
doing that, Brett rushed out of the room through another door and pounded up
the stairway to the office.  He rushed through the door and found Jessica
and Dale, who preferred not to eat with the common folk, sitting at their
desks with food trays before them.  They looked up at him curiously as he
rushed to his desk and began pulling out his maps.

"Why are you in such a tizzy?" Jessica asked him.

"We're under attack," he told them.  "Someone tried to take out position 2
with nerve gas canisters.  Brenda is dead but Michelle is still holding the
position."

"Attack?" Jessica said, looking at him as if he were mad.

"Nerve gas?" Dale, giving the same look, asked.

"Did you say Brenda was dead?"  Jessica put in.  "You mean... dead?"

"I mean dead," he told her viciously.  "And there's still an unknown number
of people inside the wall with guns.  Position 3 is not answering hails on
the radio and I think they might be dead there too."

Now they looked completely bewildered, unable to process what he was telling
them.  He gave a very brief summary of what he knew as he stuffed his maps
into his pocket and pulled on his rain slicker.

"How could something like this happen?" Jessica, who was quite pale,
demanded of him.

"Don't know right now," he said, "and finding out isn't the issue at the
moment.  Surviving is the issue.  We have no idea how many of these people
there are.  Why don't you two get downstairs and get armed up.  We're gonna
have to fight, I think."

Like the people in the cafeteria, Jessica and Dale responded to the
commanding tone in his voice.  Without giving their customary arguments,
they got up and headed out the door.


+++++


"What the hell happened?" Bill demanded of the remnants of John's squad when
he found them.  He had a pretty good idea of course.  He had seen the two
bodies and the debris from the exploded Raid-bomb in the driveway.  He and
his men had in fact stepped over it in order to take up position along the
house next door.

One of the men explained the sequence of events that had led up to them
cowering there without a leader.  He started with the guard shooting from
the window, passed through their attempt to silence the post by shooting
through the walls, and ended with John's ill-fated attempt to clear the
building.

"He thought we got 'em when we shot into the bedroom," the man, who was near
tears, explained.  "He was just checking to make sure."

Bill shook his head a little, wondering if fatigue had made the former
hunting guide make such a stupid error.  Everyone had been awake for more
than twenty-four hours now.

"What do we do now?" Bill was asked.  "There's still someone with a gun in
that house.  Should we go in through the back?"

"Maybe we should just leave," another suggested.  "Try again another day."

"No," Bill said in answer to both questions.  "We can't leave.  This place
is our only hope for food.  We need to move on to the community center and
try to take it down.  We don't have to worry about this guard post anymore
because they've probably already radioed that we're here."

"Won't they be getting ready for us if they know we're here?" someone asked.

"As much as they can," Bill said.  "But I don't think that will be enough to
stop us.  This was a snooty-ass town before the comet.  How many guns could
they possibly have?  Probably most of their firepower is at the guard posts.
We need to get to that community center before they think to move the guards
in to protect it."

"Are you sure they won't have guns?" he was asked.

"They'll probably have a few," he said confidently.  "So we'll have to move
a little more carefully once we get close.  The important thing is that we
get there before the guards are pulled in.  We can still do this if we act
now.  So let's go!  Follow me!"

He began to lead them around the front of the single-story house, avoiding
crossing into the line of fire from the guard house itself.  They went to
the end of the street they were on and then turned left down Sycamore
Avenue, one of the main roads of the subdivision that led south to the park
and the community center.  As they made the turn and formed up into a loose
diamond shape, no one happened to look towards a row of dying bushes in
front of the porch on a corner house.  Since no one happened to look there,
no one saw Jason crouched behind this row, watching their every move.



+++++



Though the community center itself was too far away for the sounds of
gunfire during the battle for position 2 to reach, Stacy's house, where
Jason was now living, was not.  Located out as far as anyone had been
settled so far, the pops and crackles of the various weapons had been
audible enough to bring him out of the restless, worried half-sleep that he
had been engaged in.  Thoughts of the impending showdown tonight had been
driven out of his mind in an instant as he realized that a much more
important issue was now taking place.  Though he couldn't be completely
sure, the shooting had sounded like it was coming from the guardpost, which
could only mean that the town was under attack.

He had jumped up and donned his clothing as quickly as possible, threading
his pistol through his belt and putting his boots on without bothering to
tie them.  He had no radio so he did not know exactly what was going on and
he had no rifle since they were all in the armory or at the guard posts.
His first thought was to get to the community center where Brett was and
where the defenses would be assembling.  But the community center was much
further away then the guard house was.  Shouldn't he get over there first
and see what was going on?  Maybe somebody was injured there and needed
help.  If nothing else, there was a radio there and he could use it to get
hold of Brett for instructions.

He exited the house, not bothering to lock it, and began heading north,
staying off of the main streets and sticking to the less traveled routes,
which tended to wind back and forth.  He knew exactly where to turn and
where to go straight.  A big part of Brett's training had been map reading
and memorization skills.  He knew every one of the sixty plus streets and
avenues in Garden Hill and could tell you where they went.

He reached the corner of Sycamore and Blossom, which was about two hundred
yards from position 2, just as Bill and his men had come trotting up from
their attack on position 3.  Luckily he spotted them before they spotted him
and he took refuge in the row of bushes that he was passing, his pistol in
his sweaty hand, his mind wishing desperately for a pair of binoculars.
 From where he was sequestered he was able to see a few lumps on the driveway
that looked like they might be bodies on the ground but he couldn't be sure.
The eight men that had prompted his refuge here all disappeared between
position 2 and the house next to it on the west.  They stayed in there for
nearly five minutes.

When they finally emerged, Jason saw that there was now more of them.  Eight
had gone in, but twelve came out.  Every one of them had a rifle held at
port arms position.  They crept around until they were out of the sight line
of position 2 and then they began jogging right towards him.  His grip
tightened on his pistol as they approached and he wondered just how many of
them he could shoot before they gunned him down like a rabid dog.  He was
putting his money on three, but thought that four was maybe possible.  When
they passed him without even a glance in his direction, he breathed a quiet
sigh of relief and wished to have an M-16 in his hands.  With the automatic
rifle he thought that maybe he would be able to take all of them out.  Well,
if wishes were horses, etc, etc...

As the invaders moved further down Sycamore Avenue he took a moment to
wonder if they had left anyone behind to keep an eye on the guard position.
Logic told him that they wouldn't do that so he got up and dashed quickly
across the street.  Moving carefully, in case logic happened to be wrong, he
advanced house by house, his gun still in his hand, until he was standing
against the garage door of the house next door.  By now he was clearly able
to identify the two lumps in the driveway as human bodies, and those of
invaders at that.  Their rifles were still lying next to them and the sharp
smell of urine and feces was powerful enough to reach him even there.  He
wondered what the hell had happened.  What were all of those metal fragments
and what was that sharp, chemical odor that was almost strong enough to
override the other stenches?

Putting these speculations out of his mind, he returned to the task at hand.
As Brett had taught his students during the training, he stepped slowly up
the corner of the building so he could see if anyone was still over there.
His pistol was pointed downward, not upward, as television cops liked to do.
Though pointing up looked more dramatic to a viewing audience, it was much
faster and more natural of a motion to bring a weapon to bear by raising the
arms up from the waist then bringing it down from the shoulder.  He poked
his head around the corner and saw nothing but a bunch of empty shell
casings along the wall.  He took a deep breath and then dashed across the
open space to the guard post's driveway.

Over here the chemical and biological odor was much stronger, almost
sickening.  He could now see that the metal fragments that littered the
driveway were from a can of insect spray.  He could also see the .45 pistol
lying broken in two pieces on the ground.  He knew that pistol.  It belonged
to Michelle.  Its presence on the ground was a very disturbing sight.

Anxious to get away from the choking pesticide and bodily secretion fumes,
he continued to creep along the garage door until he was able to peer around
and look at the front door.  He saw that it had been opened and that two
more bodies, invaders by the looks of them, were lying in the entryway.  So
nobody had made it into the house, or had they?

Knowing he was taking a chance but confident in his ability to get away if
the occupant turned out to be an invader, he called out.  "Is anyone in the
house?  This is Jason!"

It took a few seconds but finally a female voice answered back.  "Jason?  Is
that really you?"

"Yes," he answered.  "Are you okay in there?"

"I'm holding," she replied.  "Who is with you?"

"No one," he said.  "I came from my house.  I'm coming in, don't shoot at
me!"

"All right."

Slowly, his pistol still in his hand, he trotted to the front door and
stepped over the bodies that were lying there.  "Where are you?" he asked.

"Step all the way inside first," she said from somewhere above him.  "I want
to make sure you're not a hostage."

"Right," he told her, coming towards the staircase.  "I'm all alone.
They're all gone."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I watched them go," he said, mounting the stairs and reholstering his
pistol.  "They're heading for the community center.  Where's your radio?"

She finally stood up, or at least she tried to.  She was very wobbly on her
feet.  Jason was able to see a large stain on her shirt where she had thrown
up.  He was also able to see, though he didn't really want to, a dark patch
in the crotch of her jeans where she had urinated on herself.   She sat back
down, leaning against the wall.  "I got gassed a little when they hit," she
said.  "Some kind of nerve gas or something.  I think I'll live but I'm
pretty sick right now.  I keep throwing up and... you know?"

"It was Raid," he said.  "I saw the cans outside.  What the hell is going
on?  Where's Brenda?"

"She's dead," Michelle said.  "They shot her through the wall in the
bedroom.  Are you SURE they're all gone?"

"Yes," he said, holding out his hand for the radio.  "Give it to me, I need
to talk to Brett.  He needs to know they're coming."

She handed it to him and he keyed it up.  "Brett," he said, "this is Jason
at position 2.  Are you there?"

It took about fifteen seconds but finally he replied.  "Jason?" he asked.
"What are you doing there?"

"I heard the shooting and I came to see what was happening," he said into
the radio.  "I saw them Brett.  They've left the guard position and they're
heading down Sycamore right towards you, moving fast.  There are twelve of
them and they are armed with rifles and pistols.  They left here less than
five minutes ago."


+++++


Brett had, by that point, made his way out into the parking lot of the
community center, where Matt was slowly assembling troops.  After hearing
Jason's report he took a look at the map he had spread out on the front seat
of the fire engine, putting his finger on Sycamore Avenue.  Adding five
minutes to the corner of Sycamore and Blossom, accounting for a reasonably
fast pace, he figured that he had three minutes, maybe four before the
invaders arrived at the north end of the park.  He took another look outside
and saw that fifteen people, mostly women but a few men, were armed up.
Only one or two of them looked like they might be halfway competent with the
rifles they had been given.  Most were fumbling as they tried to put
ammunition in.

"This is not good," he muttered, cursing Jessica and Dale for overriding his
suggestion some weeks before that all guns be stored loaded, with the
safety's on, in case of attack.  He put the two council members out of his
head and picked up the radio again.  "Chrissie, are you there?"

"Chrissie here," her voice responded immediately.

"Have you been listening to Jason's traffic?"

"Affirmative," she told him.  "I copy twelve armed men heading down Sycamore
Avenue towards the community center."

"Good," he said.  "I want you and Maggie to take your weapons, as much ammo
as you can carry, and get to the corner of Manzanita and Sycamore as fast as
you can.  Hole up over there where you can see what's going on and report to
me when they pass by.  You should be able to get there before them.  Hold
your fire until you're told.  Report only for now."

"Copy Brett," she said, "we're on the way."

"Jason," he said next, "are you still with me?"

"I'm here Brett," his voice said.

"Take the 16 and the radio and go as fast as you can to the corner of
Cypress and Manzanita.  Find yourself a place to hole up there.  Take any
extra ammo you have as well.  Wait for orders there."

"Got it," he said.

"Is Michelle still okay?"

"She's sick but she's chillin'," he answered.

"Good," Brett said.  "Tell her to keep chillin'.  We'll send someone to get
her as soon as we can.  Position 4 and Position 5, you guys just keep your
eyes out.  I'll call you if I need you."

He stuffed the radio back in his pocket and stepped down from the fire
engine, grabbing the AR-15 that he'd taken from the supply room and slinging
it over his shoulder.  Jessica and Dale, both with shotguns in their hands
now, were standing directly behind him, listening to everything that he did.
It seemed like Jessica wanted to say something to him but he pushed by her,
going over to Matt.

"Matt," he said.  "We got about three minutes or so until they're here.
There's twelve of them, armed with rifles and pistols, and they were last
seen moving south down Sycamore.  I'll take the people you have here and
deploy them over on the far side of the parking lot, by the playground.  You
go inside and get another group together.  Get yourself a radio and stand by
for orders.  I'll probably have you firm up the far side of the building.
You'll be able to find reasonable cover behind the cars and trucks parked
out there.  Don't come out with less than ten people though and whatever you
do, don't let anyone else out of that building until I say so."

"Right," Matt said, turning and running back towards the door.

Brett then turned to the motley collection that he had.  "All right people,"
he said, "get your weapons locked and loaded and follow me.  We got twelve
armed men heading our way from the north."



+++++



Bill called a sudden halt to his eleven troops.  "This road here," he said,
pointing at a side street that went off to the east.  "It leads to that
other road that goes along the east side of the park."  He turned to Glenn
Paxton, who he figured was the least incompetent at command.  "Glenn," he
told him.  "You take Mike, Steve, and Lou and keep moving south, until you
get to the last row of houses before the park.  Find cover there and start
shooting at anyone out front.  If no one's out there, shoot a couple rounds
anyone to try and draw any fire that they have."

"What are you gonna do?" Glenn said, terrified at the thought that he was
being put in charge of something.

"I'm gonna take the rest of the guys and hit them from the east.  While
you're keeping them occupied, we'll move in.  Be careful not to shoot us."

"But..."

"Just do it," Bill yelled.  "Now."  He slapped him on the back to get him in
gear.

Glenn reluctantly gathered his task force together and led them down
Sycamore.  Once they were on their way, Bill and his group began heading
east.  When they got to the corner, they hooked back to the south.


+++++


Brett was finally getting his own troops into something approximating good
positions.  He had then deployed on their bellies behind the wooden planks
that made up the large sawdust pit within which the jungle gym was
contained.    He himself was lying in the middle, directly between Jessica
and Dale, who were both trembling like paint-shakers.

"Maybe I should go help Paul," Dale said suddenly.  "He doesn't know the
store room as well as..."

"Shut up," Brett told him.  "Don't be a fucking pussy.  If you run, everyone
else will run too and we'll all die.  You're supposed to be a leader here,
goddammit."

"I wasn't trying to run," he said, near-tears from fear.  "I was just
thinking that..."

"Don't think," Brett said.  "It's not your strong suit.  Just stay there in
that position until I tell you to do something.   You too Jess.  Remember,
you two have shotguns, not rifles.  Shotguns are only good for close in
defense.  Unless someone gets within twenty yards of us, you shouldn't have
to shoot at all."

"And what if they do?" Jessica asked.

"Then point it at them and shoot," he said.  "You have double-ought buck
rounds in there.  It's like a hand grenade, it doesn't have to be aimed
exactly on target, just close, okay?"

"Like a hand grenade," Jessica said talismanically. "Like a hand grenade."

"Brett, this is Chrissie," barked the walkie-talkie.  "Are you there?"

He picked it up and keyed it.  "I'm here."

"We're in position now and they just passed us," she said.  "But there was
only four of them."

"Confirming only four?" he asked.

"That is affirmative.  Only four, moving south at a good clip in a line
formation.  I can still see them now in fact.  They should be near the front
of the park in less than a minute."

"Copy Chrissie," he said.  "Hold tight and stand by for further orders.
Chances are we'll be needing you."

"Copy."

"Four?" Jessica said.  "What happened to twelve?  Was that boy
exaggerating?"

"I don't think so," he said, keying the radio.  "Matt, are you there?"

It took a moment but finally he answered.  "Matt here."

"Do you have a squad ready to go?"

"You could say that," he said doubtfully.  Brett understood.

"Get over to the east side and deploy where I told you to before.  It sounds
like they sent eight of them around that way to flank us.  The four heading
our way are probably for diversion and cover."

"Moving now," Matt responded.

"Flank us?" Dale asked.  "What does that mean?"

"It means they're trying to send a group of them around to the other side to
attack us from that direction.  Matt and his people should be able to
prevent that."  He keyed the radio once more.  "Jason, you out there?"

"Almost in position," he answered.  "I copied Chrissie's traffic.  You want
me to cut over to the east a block or two?"

"You read my mind," Brett told him.  "Take position at Elm and Manzanita
instead.  If we drive them back, they're gonna be coming right at you so
keep your weapon on automatic and leave yourself an escape route."

"Right," Jason told him.

"Jason is out there?" Jessica asked.  "What is he doing out there?"

"He's the spring on the little trap that we're setting," Brett said,
dropping his radio and picking up his rifle again.

"But he's just a boy.  Are you deliberately putting him in harm's way?"

"That's where he belongs," Brett said.  "I trust him a lot more out there
than I would trust anyone else in this group."

"But..."

"Quiet," he barked at her.  "It's almost time."

They were quiet but very restless, not just Jessica and Dale, but his entire
group.  A few of them had pulled guard duty before, a few had even shot at
stragglers, but this was the first time that any of them had been in close
combat where people were going to actually be shooting back.  He could sense
the fear and near-panic radiating off of them.  It was like a stench almost.
He hoped they would hold when the time came.  If they held, there was no way
that the four men approaching would be able to defeat them.  If they
panicked however, it was all but assured.

He spotted movement near the front of the park and a moment later, two
figures darting from the side of the street and heading for cover behind a
large brick planter in the front lawn of a house.  "They're here," Brett
told his troops.  "About two hundred yards north, right along that green and
brown single story.  I only got two of them so far.  Hold your fire until I
tell you to shoot."  His intention was to let the enemy make the first move.
He wanted to spot where their fire was coming from before he wasted precious
ammunition returning it.  But Dale apparently had different thoughts on the
tactical situation.

"I see one," he screamed, leveling his shotgun in the general direction and
pulling the trigger.  The 12-gauge boomed as the shell was fired, sending
ten pea-sized pellets flying downrange on a gout of flame.  The pellets
spread out rapidly as they left the barrel, flying in a very un-aerodynamic
fashion, and dropped harmlessly to the ground sixty yards short of their
target.  But before they did so, the sound of the shot reached the enemy,
giving away the position of the defenders and destroying any chance of an
ambush.  The two men reacted quickly, diving to the ground behind the
planter.

"You fucking idiot," Brett yelled as two muzzleflashes suddenly winked at
them as the men Dale had shot at shot back.  Two more flashes followed a
second later twenty yards to the left, both from the corner of the house
across the street.  Bullets came whizzing in, sounding like angry insects
buzzing over their heads.  There was a loud ping as one of them struck the
jungle gym.

"They're shooting!" Jessica yelled just as the sound of the gunshots reached
them.  She too, contrary to two different sets of orders, unleashed a round
from her shotgun.

This threw the rest of the group into a general panic.  Guns began to go off
one by one and bullets began to fly towards the two houses from which the
shots had come, most of them badly aimed and nowhere close to target.  A
window shattered and a large chunk of a chimney was chipped away.  Jessica
and Dale both fired their shotguns again, prompting Brett to scream at them
to knock that shit off.  "Aim for the muzzleflashes," he told the rest.
"Use your scopes if you've got them."  He himself popped five rounds from
his AR-15 at the spot where he'd seen a gun go off.

The hunters returned fire again and more bullets began to whiz by them.  One
thunked loudly into the wood just eight inches from Dale and this was just a
little too much for him to take.  His fear boiled completely over.  "They're
gonna kill us!" he screamed, leaping to his feet and preparing to bolt.

"Dale, get the fuck down!" Brett shouted, dropping his rifle and trying to
grab him.  Just as he got his hand on Dale's leg there was a whiz and a
meaty thud.  Brett felt him jerk and looked up to see a hole in his back,
just above his beltline.  He gave a pull and Dale fell to the ground next to
him.

"I'm shot!" he yelled.  "Oh god, I'm shot!"

Since Dale was now lying on his back, Brett could see where the bullet had
exited.  It was not an encouraging sight.  Blood was welling from a hole the
diameter of a silver dollar.  Muscle, fat tissue, and even a small coil of
intestine, torn and shredded by the chunk of lead, were clearly visible
protruding from the wound.  "Jessica," he yelled at her as three more
bullets crashed into the wood or whizzed overhead, "Dale's hit!  Get over
here and put some pressure on this wound.  Use a piece of his shirt!"

Jessica, who was now cowering against the wooden planks, hugging the ground
like she thought she might spin off, raised her head up just enough to take
a quick look.  She hiccuped once and then vomited up the small amount of
breakfast she had managed to eat all over Brett's outstretched leg.  She
then turned and began scrambling to her feet.

"Jessica goddammit, get down or you'll get shot!" Brett yelled at her,
trying to grab hold of her.

He missed his grip and she began running towards the community center as
fast as she could go.  Four other members of his group, two men and two
women, seeing her flee, lost the thin margin of control that they had been
hanging on to.  They too jumped up and tried to make a break for it.

"Stay down and fight you assholes!" Brett screamed at them.  "Don't you dare
abandon me!"

They ignored him and began to run after Jessica.  Just as they started to
pick up speed, another barrage of bullets came flying in and two of them
were hit.  Rick Stanton, a former gas station attendant at the Garden Hill
Shell station, was struck in the back of the head, snapping it forward and
throwing a sizable portion of his brain out onto the ground in front of him.
He dropped instantly, falling face-first, and did not move.  Sherri Philo,
who had been married to a gynecologist before the comet and who was one of
Jessica's closest gossip cronies, took one high in the back of the leg,
shattering her femur.  She staggered forward two more steps and then fell
screaming next to Rick.  Jessica and the other two who had bolted never
looked back.  They made the hundred-yard dash to the community center as if
they were on fire, throwing themselves through the doorway.

Two other people had been set to bolt until they saw what fate awaited them
if they stood up.  They dropped back down just as the next volley of fire
came rolling in.

"Shoot back at them!" Brett yelled.  "For God's sake, shoot back at them!"
He then poked his head up long enough to unleash six fast shots towards the
invaders.

Finally, left with nothing else to do, his remaining people began to shoot
back once more.


+++++


Meanwhile, two hundred yards to the east, on the far side of the community
center parking lot, Matt lost two of his group before contact was even made
with the enemy approaching them.  They heard the pops of gunfire coming from
the other side of the building and, despite Matt's pleas and threats,
dropped their weapons and ran.

Though Matt himself had never been in any sort of combat situation, had
never even had opportunity to fire at a straggler outside the wall, he held
firm, encouraging his remaining troops to hold in place the best he could.
With his heart hammering in his chest, he pointed his AK-47 out over the
hood of a Ford F-150 and kept his eyes peeled for the invaders.  The rest of
his group were spread out behind the engine compartments of the other
vehicles parked there, two per vehicle.

Just as the volume of fire from Brett's position began to pick up after a
long, discouraging period of non-response, he spotted them.  They were
spread out and crouched low, darting from the cover of a house on the far
side of the park towards a group of trees about 20 yards inside the
perimeter.

"There they are," he called, feeling a strange calmness overtake him now
that moment was at hand.  "Hold your fire until I shoot.  Let's let them get
closer in."

"Closer in?" someone, a male, asked with a trembling voice.  "I thought we
were trying to drive them away."

"We're trying to kill them," Matt said firmly, watching as the continued to
draw closer.  "That's what this is about.  We'll chop them up when they get
halfway between."

"But..."

"Shut up," Matt barked.  "Get ready."  He tightened his grip on his weapon
and began to track the lead man across the top of his sight.  "Those of you
with shotguns, hold your fire unless they get close in.  Everybody else, be
sure to use your sights if you can.  Don't just fire randomly."

"Aren't they close enough?" someone else, a female, asked this time.  "Matt,
they're almost on top of us!"

"Not yet," he said, his breathing slowing down and becoming more regular.
The group made it to the trees and took cover behind it for a moment,
temporarily disappearing from view.  That was okay.  He knew they would
reappear in a few moments.  To his left, the sound of gunshots from Brett's
group continued, mostly rifle shots but with occasional cracks from the
AR-15 thrown in.  He could also hear at least two people screaming, one, it
sounded like Dale, yelling over and over that he was going to die.

"What the fuck is going on?" someone asked, their voice wavering on the edge
of control.  "What are they doing?"

"Patience," Matt said.  "They'll head for us in a moment."


+++++



"Keep shooting," Brett told his people, who seemed to have settled down just
a bit.  "Move a few feet to one side each time you shoot so they don't sight
in on you.  Take aim at their muzzleflashes through your scopes and try to
hit them the next time they pop up.  Remember that it takes the bullet a
second or two to get there!"

More bullets plinked in, kicking up splashes of the water that was contained
in the sawdust in front of them or flying over the top of them.
Occasionally one would hit the wood that was providing cover for them and
blow off a chunk of it.  Brett fired a few times whenever someone was
reloading his or her weapon, just to keep the pressure on, but otherwise
conserved his ammo.  He knew that these four were not going to rush them.
They were just the diversionary group.

Behind him, both Dale and Sherri were still screaming in pain and fear.  He
could do nothing but ignore them for the moment since he had no one to spare
to offer first aid.

"Fuck yeah! I got one!"  Steve Enders, the former pool man, said excitedly.
"I hit him in the fuckin' face!"

"Good," Brett said, popping off a few more rounds while the woman next to
him shoved a few more shells into her gun.  He mentally subtracted one from
four.  "Do it again with someone else now.  We can take these fuckers people
if we keep working together.  Keep the pressure on them!"

He sensed some sort of teamwork and camaraderie at work now as battle-lust
took over.  He was glad for it but could not allow himself the luxury of
becoming a part of it.  He was responsible for much more than what was going
on here.  He put his head down and picked up his radio for the first time
since the battle had begun.  "Matt, this is Brett, what's your status?" he
asked into it.

"We have them in sight in the trees near the northeast corner of the park,"
was the reply.  "We're gonna hit them hard when they try to move in.  Be
advised that two of my people have deserted."

"Copy," he said.  "I know the feeling.  Let the rest of yours know that I
got two people hit because they broke cover.  They need to stay where the
fuck they are when the shooting starts!"

"They copied you," he said.  "I'll keep them here."

"Right," Brett replied.  "Kick some ass.  Take out as many as you can.  No
fucking mercy for these people.  Chrissie, are you with me?"

"I'm here," she said immediately.  "We're still holding in place."

"Move in," he told her.  "Steve dropped one of our guys but I've still got 3
people holed up at the north end of the park, directly across Cypress.
There are two covering to the west side of the brown and white house on the
corner and one covering behind the brick planters in front of the green and
brown house.  We've got them pinned down right now but we're gonna start
getting short on ammo here pretty soon.  I want you to drop down south to
Cypress and then move east until you have a shot at them.  Be careful,
they're pretty good with those rifles.  Once you have a clear line of sight,
either take the motherfuckers out or drive them out of cover so that we can.
Got it?"

"We're on our way," she said.  "Moving double time."

"Good girl," he told her.  "Let's kick some ass baby."


+++++


"Shit," Matt said, seeing only four people emerge from the trees.  They were
still in a crouch, weapons held ready, moving quickly towards a grassy knoll
about sixty yards from where they had started.  The other four enemies, he
knew, would be in the trees to cover their advance.  Now what?

"Where are the rest of them?" he was asked.  "Matt, they didn't all come
out!"

He thought furiously for a moment, his brain working on overdrive, weighing
the various options that he had.  Should he attack the ones on the move,
therefore alerting the ones in the trees to their presence or should he wait
until such a time as both were in the open?  But what if both never came
into the open?  What if by the time they did, they were too close for his
un-trained and undisciplined troopers to hit them all?

"Matt?" the voice was now frantic.  "What do we do?"

"Open fire on them," he said.  "Take 'em down."

"But..."

"Now!" he yelled, sighting on the closest one and pulling his trigger three
times.

His aim was true and the man spun to the left before falling in a heap.
Just as that stricken invader's companions started to react to this, the
rest of Matt's troops, including those with the shotguns, opened fire as
well, drilling the man behind him full of holes.  The other two dove into
the grass and began to fire back at them.  At the same time, from the trees,
four more guns began to shoot.  Within a second or two, glass was shattering
on the windows of the cars they were using for cover and bullets were
slamming into the metal bodies.

"Get the two on the ground first!" Matt yelled, wincing as safety glass from
the shattered windshield sprayed in his face.  "Take them before we worry
about the trees!"

Obediently, his men (and women) kept their fire concentrated on the two men
left stranded in the open.  Though they had made themselves as small of
targets as possible by lying on their bellies facing the threat, it was only
a matter of ten or fifteen seconds before shots from the scoped rifles and
the AK-47 found them.  Though they were small targets, they had no cover to
hide behind.

"They're all down!" Matt yelled to his men after the last one's head snapped
back in a spray of blood and dropped to the grass.  "Shift fire to the trees
now.  Keep them from moving!"


+++++



Chrissie, running with the M-16 in her hands and her radio in her back
pocket, moved closer and closer to the popping of rifles.  Maggie, a town
woman who was a little more competent than most, trotted right behind her,
carrying the Winchester hunting rifle.  Both of them had ammunition stuffed
into every available pocket and both were nearly out of breath from the
running.

"We're getting close," Chrissie said, slowing her pace a little.  "Let's cut
over along the houses so they don't spot us."

"Okay," Maggie panted, following her across a soggy lawn without question.
Though normally she was just as condescending to Chrissie as everyone else,
she instinctively knew that she should follow the young girl's orders now.
The confident way that she moved and the unmistakable tone of command in her
voice were impossible to ignore under these circumstances.

"We need to stay as close to these houses as we can," Chrissie told her.
"Jump over bushes if you have to, but don't get more than five feet away
from the wall."

They began to move again, their pace now little more than a trot, Chrissie
staying in the lead.  Her blue eyes were alert and peering forward, towards
the sound of gunfire, searching for the flashes.  Soon enough she spotted
one.  It came from about two hundred yards in front of her, from the side of
the house on the north side of the street, right where Brett had told her it
would be.   Once she spotted that she was able to make out the figures of
two men hiding along the wall.  They were taking turns firing their rifles
towards the community center.  The first would fire and then duck back to
put in a fresh round while the second took his turn.

"Get down!" Chrissie barked, diving to the soggy grass on her stomach as she
said it.

Maggie hesitated for the briefest of instants, not very keen on the idea of
lying down in the wet, muddy, grass, but finally decided that when it came
down to a choice between being muddy and being dead, she would have to go
with the mud.  She splashed down next to Chrissie.

"You see them?" Chrissie asked.  "I got two along that wall."

"I see them," Maggie said, watching as they went through a cycle of
shooting.

"Sight in on the one on the right," Chrissie told her.  "Aim for his body
and take him out."

"Take him out?" she said nervously.  "I don't think..."

"Do it," Chrissie yelled, sighting on the left man.  "As soon as you drop
him, I'll take the other one with the 16."

"Maybe you should take the first one," Maggie said.  "I'm not sure..."

"Do it," Chrissie repeated.  "I've seen you shoot at stragglers from further
away then this.  You can do it.  Wait until he's standing still.  It'll take
a second or so for the bullet to reach him."

"Chrissie," she pleaded.  "I...

"You can do it Maggie," Chrissie said firmly.  "I need your help here.  Now
aim at him and take his ass out."

Slowly Maggie put the rifle to her shoulder and looked through the scope.
She was trembling so badly that it took a moment for her to be able to
steady the weapon enough to get a sighting.  Once she did, she had to move
back and forth for a moment until she saw the target.  "I got him," she said
slowly, hardly noticing that her trembling had stopped.  "He's shooting
again."

"When he steps back to let the other one up, nail him," Chrissie said, her
finger tightening on the trigger.

In her sight she saw him unleash a shot towards Brett's position.  He then
raised up the rifle and stepped back three steps while the second man
stepped up.  He paused there to put in a fresh round.  Just as his hand
started to work the bolt on his rifle, Maggie fired, continuing to watch
through the scope.  The bullet reached him as he was halfway through the
motion of pushing the bolt back.  It struck him right in the center of the
chest, causing him to drop his rifle and stumble against the wall.

 "I did it!" Maggie squealed excitedly, raising her head up.  "I hit him!"

Before he even began to drop, Chrissie opened up on the other one, firing
two quick three-round bursts on automatic fire.  He was just starting to
turn towards the sound of Maggie's shot when four bullets struck him in the
chest and head.  He was dead before he hit the ground.  She shifted her
sights to the first man, who had slumped down into a sitting position
against the wall of the house.  He was probably dead - the rifle had fallen
from his hands - but she fired a burst into his chest anyway, just to make
sure.

"That oughtta do it," she said, raising her head a little.  She pulled out
her walkie-talkie and keyed it up.  "Brett, Chrissie here.  We just dropped
the two against the house.  They're out of it!"

"We saw one of them go down, Chrissie," he answered.  "Glad you got the
other one too.  Good shooting.  There's one more over there behind the
planter.  Do you have a visual on him?"

"It's out of my sight line," she said.  "We'll move out a little and try to
get some fire on him."

"Be careful Chris," he told her, his voice taking on a tone other than that
of command for the first time.

She felt a smile forming on her face.  "I will," she told him.  "I've been
taught well."

She shoved the radio back in her pocket and turned to Maggie.  "Let's see if
we can get the other one now."

"Where is he?" she asked, not having heard the radio traffic.

"Brett said he was across the street, behind a brick planter.  Let's move
out to the right, real slowly and see if we can pick him up.  Be careful and
keep down.  He knows we're here now."

Chrissie, without waiting to see if Maggie was going to follow, began to
belly-crawl to her right, moving herself further out onto the lawn and
widening her view of the target area.  Just as the corner of the planter in
question came into view she saw a flash from it.  She rolled sharply back to
the left a half-second before the bullet slammed into the mud where she had
just been.  She did this instinctively, without a thought, and only after
the incident was over did she realize how close she had just come to dying.
"Christ," she muttered, her heart hammering in her chest.  "Get back Mag,"
she warned.  "Don't come any further out."

"What are you doing?" Maggie asked with alarm as Chrissie stood up.

"I know where he's at now," she said.  "I'm gonna flush him out of there."

"How?" she asked.  "You're gonna get yourself killed."

"I won't," she said, taking a deep breath.  She sidestepped to the right
three steps and fired a burst at the planter.  As soon as the bullets left
the barrel, she dove back to the left, out of the sightline once again.

The bullets were not aimed very well - they had not been intended to be -
but when they slammed into the bricks of the planter and the stucco of the
house, they completely unnerved the single remaining hunter that was
cowering back there.  He fired a single shot back at the girl, knowing even
as he pulled the trigger that it wasn't going to hit her.  What the hell had
happened?  Things had seemed to be going so well for the first minute or so
of the battle despite the fact of there being more guns than they had
thought.  They had clearly seen two of the defenders flee in terror and
three of them fall to the barrage of fire they had put up.  Victory had
seemed assured.  But then things had taken a turn for the worst.  In the
last three minutes, all three of his companions had been killed.  First
Glenn, the man Bill had put in charge of this ill-fated diversionary force,
had taken a shot right between his eyes as he popped up to fire his rifle.
And then, out of the blue, Steve and Lou had been mowed down by automatic
gunfire coming from another direction.  It had to have been the guardhouse
personnel.  How had they forgotten about them?

The girl popped out again and her rifle flashed.  Again, he pulled the
trigger on his rifle, trying to put a bullet in her before she could duck
back out of sight, but this time the trigger didn't move and the gun didn't
fire.  As four more rounds came flying in, chipping bricks and smashing the
small window that looked in on the garage, his nerve broke.  Without even
realizing that he had forgotten to chamber a new round, he discarded the
rifle and stood up.  His intention was to flee back the way he had come,
running as fast as he could until he reached the wall and was able to get
himself out of this place, but he only made it two steps.

Had he been more coherent, he might have noticed that the volume of fire
from the community center had slacked considerably off once he started
getting shot off from the other direction.  This was because Brett had
ordered all but two of his people to cease fire and wait until someone
popped up.  The moment his head became visible over the top of the planter,
three rifles and an AR-15 opened up on him.  Two bullets hit his chest,
driving him down to his knees.  Two more hit him in the head, finishing the
job of killing him.


+++++


"He's down!" Brett yelled, seeing him drop.  "Cease fire!"

His group was completely in the battle mode now - or at least as in the mode
as untrained, undisciplined people could get - and they obeyed him
instantly.  From the other side of the community center, the sound of a
drawn-out fight was still echoing.  From in front of them and to the left,
came another burst of M-16 fire as Chrissie, not realizing that her target
was down, fired another burst.

"Chrissie," Brett said into the walkie-talkie, "he's down.  You drove him
out of there and we took him.  Hold your fire."

It took her a moment to answer.  "I copy he's down," she said.

"Move in and secure that area.  Remember, keep your guard up until you know
they're all dead."

They were all dead.  It was confirmed two minutes later when the two women
advanced in and visualized the carnage they had helped cause.  While Maggie
stared in awe at the dead bodies, Chrissie gave the all-clear signal to
Brett over the radio.

"Copy Chrissie," he said.  "Stand by.  Paul, are you there?"

Paul had been monitoring the battle from inside the community center,
feeling about as helpless as a man could feel, listening to the gunfire
rattling back an forth, hearing bullets hitting the side of the building,
and hearing the screams of those that had been hit every time Brett keyed up
his radio.  "I'm here Brett," he said.

"We're secure out here now but we've got two wounded that need to be taken
care of.  Dale and Sherri have been hit."

"I'm on my way," he said, picking up the first aid bag that he'd had next to
him.

"You'll need some people to help you probably," Brett said.  "If Jessica's
in there, why don't you have her do it.  She should see what she helped do
out here."

Paul looked over to where Jessica was sitting against the wall.  She was
trembling wildly, her face ashen, her hands wringing nervously.  She had
vomit stains on her rain slicker.  "I don't think she's in any kind of shape
to do that," he replied.  "I'll find someone else."

"Tell her thanks for the help she provided," Brett said icily.  "We really
appreciated it out here."


+++++


"Matt, what's your situation?" came Brett's voice.

As Brett's had done before it, Matt's group was now performing as a fairly
well disciplined team.  They kept up the volume of fire on the trees,
exchanging shots at a controlled pace with the group hiding within.  So far,
though the cars they were hiding behind were riddled with bullet holes and
leaking various engine fluids onto the ground, no one had been hit.  As far
as they knew, none of their enemy had been hit either.  They were just
pinning each other down.

"Still in position," he told Brett as another volley of fire came rolling
in, punching more holes in the cars.  "They split into two and tried to
advance.  We took out four of them.  The rest are hiding in the trees near
the southeast corner of the park."

"So you have four left?"

"Affirm.  Eight entered the trees, four came out to advance.  I don't know
if we've hit any of the remaining ones or not, we're somewhat at a stalemate
here."

"And your people?"

 "No one is hit but we're starting to get low on 30 caliber ammo.  I still
have two more clips of 7.65."

"Slow down your rate of fire a little," Brett told him.  "We don't have any
way of getting someone out to you without putting them at risk.  The other
group is down now so I'll get you some help."

"We'd surely appreciate that," Matt said, signing off and putting his radio
back in his pocket.  He told his people to ease up on the ammo consumption a
little and then sighted in on the trees and squeezed off another two rounds.


+++++



Brett was elated to hear that Matt, who had not been tested in combat until
now, had managed to wipe out half of the force attacking him.  With his
elation came a plan.  He directed Chrissie around to the north and then the
east, telling her to link up with Jason at his position to augment his
automatic rifle with her own.  Maggie went along for the ride in case her
long-range scoped rifle was needed.  Once they made the link-up, he told
them to move south until they had the trees in sight and in range.  While
they were making the trip, and while Paul and several of the women from
inside the community center came out and began tending to Dale and Sherri,
Brett led his group back to the supply room (all of them giving contemptuous
looks at Jessica as they passed her) where they quickly grabbed extra
ammunition.

"Okay guys," he told them.  "It's time to end this thing.  Follow me."

He led them out a side entrance and pointed across the park, towards the
flooded baseball diamond.  "We need to get over there," he said.  "We can
put some fire on those assholes if we can get in the dugout."

"The dugout?" someone asked.  "How are we going to do that?  They'll see us
when we cross the parking lot and the grass."

"No they won't," Brett said, "because we're not going to cross the parking
lot and the grass, at least not from this direction.  Come on."  He began to
head off to the west, away from the diamond, keeping the community center
between his group and the trees where the enemies were located.  He moved at
a fast pace, not quite a full-out run, but a little more than a simple jog.
His group of recently popped cherries consisted of seven women and three
men.  They ran single file behind him, their weapons clanking and their
extra ammo rattling.

He led them out of the park and into the residential area, down a street
where many of the town residents, including Dale and Jessica, kept house.
They went down one block and turned left, to the south, keeping up the pace
they were setting for two more blocks, at which point Brett hooked back
towards the park.  When they reached the street that ran alongside of the
park, the wooden backstop of the baseball diamond was now standing between
them and the trees, keeping the enemy from spotting them.

"Move up to the backstop," Brett told them.  "Keep low as you move, so your
heads don't show on the other side."  He then led by example and did exactly
as he had told them to do.  It was a rather tense dash but a minute later
all eleven of them hunched down against the painted green wood.  They took a
moment to catch their breath.

"Good job," Brett told them.  "Now let's get into position."

The dugout was just that, a pit dug out of the ground where the baseball
players that had once romped here sat awaiting their turn to bat or take the
field.  It was about four feet deep and twenty feet long and, since it was a
low spot in the park, it was about half filled with rainwater.

"Keep your weapons out of the water," Brett told his troops as he made the
five yard dash from the back of the backstop, across the muddy first-base
line, and into the dugout.  He made a splash in the water and his legs were
instantly chilled to the bone.  He ignored it, submerging his hips and lower
stomach as well as he crouched down to keep his body covered.  He kept his
rifle and the radio carefully out of the wetness.  "Come on," he told the
next person.  "Get the hell over here."

One by one they followed his lead, stomping through the mud and then
splashing into the water.  Brett kept expecting the gunfire from the trees,
which was still popping, to turn towards them at any time since the dash
from the backstop brought every person that did it briefly into the view.
But apparently the tree people were a little too busy exchanging shots with
Matt's people to notice that.  It would be their undoing.

"Perfect," Brett said, once all of them were in.  He set his radio down on
the ground in front of him and trained his rifle towards the trees.  He
could see two of the invaders without even looking through a scope.  From
his angle they were perpendicular to the trees instead of behind them.
"Those of you with scopes," Brett said, "Find a target and get ready to
shoot.  Once we start shooting, keep it up and keep the pressure on them.
We're going to drive them right out of there and into a trap."

There were some murmurs of agreement and they took aim.  Brett picked up the
radio and called Jason and Chrissie.

"We're in position," Jason told him.  "We have good cover and an escape
route if we need to pull back."

"Copy that," Brett said.  "Get ready to rumble over there, we're gonna drive
'em right into you.  Hold your fire until they break cover and come at you.
Matt, when you hear us open up over here, you do the same.  Pour fire on
those motherfuckers and we'll do the same."

"Ready when you are," Matt assured him.

"Okay, let's do it."


++++



Bill was doing all he could to keep his people in position.  Their
ammunition was getting short and with each bullet that thunked into the tree
trunks opposite of where someone was hiding, their sense of panic and doom
grew.  It was now apparent that a big mistake had been made in attacking
this town, had been apparent from the moment that four of them were cut to
pieces out on the grass by the group that was now firing at them, but there
was nothing that could be done about it now.  He was trying to figure out a
way to get his people out of here so they could live to fight another day
but he saw no escape.  If they went back the way they had come, they would
be mowed down in the open ground.  If they went forward, they would be mowed
down from there.  If they went sideways, towards the houses on the far side
of the park, they would be mowed down by the group that Glenn's group had
been exchanging shots with (an exchange which had come to an abrupt end a
few minutes ago) or by people inside the community center itself.  They were
trapped like rats.  So far no one had been hit by gunfire but how much
longer could that last?

Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, they did.  Bullets began to
fly in from the left of them, a lot of bullets.  They slammed into the trees
and whizzed through the air.  There was a scream as one of the men was hit
and fell to the ground.  Bill looked just for an instant, just long enough
to see flashes coming from the baseball diamond.  Instinctively he tried to
edge around the tree he was using for cover to get away from this new
threat.  As he did so, he edged right into the line of fire from Matt's
group.  Before he had a chance to realize his mistake, he felt something
strike him in the chest.  It felt like someone had punched him while holding
a roll of quarters.  Suddenly his legs would not hold him up anymore and he
was falling, pitching forward.  He landed in the mud, unable to move because
the .30 caliber bullet had cut his spinal cord as it had passed through his
body.  He found it difficult to even breathe, since it had passed through
his right lung on its way to the spinal cord.  As his consciousness began to
fade he was cognizant that his two remaining men were fleeing in terror.
One of them stepped on his head as he tried to make his escape.


+++++


That was the end of the battle.  The two men managed to get across the field
without getting hit by any of the fifty some odd bullets that Brett and
Matt's group fired at them, but the moment they reached the street, they ran
smack into Jason, Chrissie, and Maggie.  The trio had hidden themselves in a
row of bushes that separated two houses, their guns pointing outward through
the dead leaves.   They held their fire until the two men were less than
forty yards away and then they opened up.  A hail of lead smashed into them,
killing both of them before they even had a chance to realize that they were
under attack.


+++++


It was quite some time before things settled down.  The immediate worry was
the two people left in the trees.  Though two people, one from Matt's group
and one from Brett's, THOUGHT that they had hit someone in there, they
weren't sure enough that Brett felt comfortable just walking in to look.
Instead he had all three groups of combatants - his, Matt's, and the Jason,
Chrissie, Maggie combo - converge upon the area at once, their weapons
ready.

They did in fact find someone still alive in there, but he wasn't in good
enough shape to put up a fight.  Ten feet away from the dead body of Bill,
the leader of the ill-fated attack upon the community center, they found a
man writhing in pain in the mud and leaves, a bullet through his pelvis.
Brett searched him thoroughly, removing a pistol and two hunting knives from
him, and then ordered his group to drag him back to the community center.

"Put some bandages on that bleeding," he told them.  "I don't want him to
bleed out before I have a chance to talk to him.  Stick him in one of the
empty storage rooms and keep him under guard."

They dragged him off, not being particularly gentle with him as they did so.

Brett turned to Chrissie, laying eyes on her for the first time since early
that morning.  She looked back at him, the hood of her rain slicker pulled
back, her blonde hair drenched and dripping, her rifle pointed at the
ground.  They shared a smile with each other.  He wanted to tell her that
she had done a good job, that he had worried about her, that he was proud of
her.  He didn't, not wanting it to seem like he wasn't worried about and
proud of the rest of those around him.  All the same, she got the message.


+++++


 From atop hill 4986, Lieutenant Bracken and Stu had watched the entire
battle unfold, from the time the first Raid-bomb was tossed to the time the
last shot was fired at the escaping tree people.  Stu, when things had
seemed to be going well for the invaders, had urged Bracken to take the
platoon down to join the battle.

"We can get fresh recruits down there AND we can capture our pick of the
women!" he'd pleaded.

But Bracken insisted upon watching only, seeing how things unfolded.  The
entire battle, from start to finish, had lasted less than thirty minutes and
Bracken was somewhat confused on just what he should think about it.  On the
one hand, the town had been taken almost completely by surprise.  The
invaders had already been inside the wall when the sun came up, something
that should NEVER have been allowed to happen.  But on the other hand, the
guards at the near position had reacted well to the attack, preventing their
position from falling and, obviously, getting the word out to the community
center that an attack was underway.

"This entire thing," he told Stu now, watching through binoculars as Matt's
group emerged from the community center and began heading west, towards the
wall, "was a case of two different extremes."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Stu, who, while clever, was not blessed with
a terribly large vocabulary, asked.

"It means there was a mixture of some pretty hideous discipline, such as
when the defenders broke and ran from four people shooting at them, and some
rather brilliant defenses.  The flanking maneuvers were first-rate,
performed with precision in exactly the right places at exactly the right
times.  That final maneuver, flushing those people out of the trees by
shooting at them from the baseball diamond, that was planning and execution
at it finest.  I couldn't have done it better myself, although I would not
have allowed things to advance as far as that.  I just don't understand how
someone, probably your friend with the kids and the M-16s, could be so smart
about these tactical decisions, but so dumb about the basic defense
arrangement."

"Who knows?" Stu asked, watching as another group started piling into the
truck that they used to gather wood with.  It was one of the few that had
been undamaged in the battle.  Three got in the front of it and four got in
the back.  It started up and began heading towards the northeast corner,
probably to check on the guard position that had been struck in the opening
moves.  "Listen Bracken," he said, "this is the perfect time for us to
strike.  They're all in disarray from the first attack.  It will be the last
thing that they're expecting.  We could go in from the north before they
have a chance to replace their guards.  We stay off the main road and work
our way south and I bet we can be on top of that community center before
they even know we're there."

"No," Bracken said without hesitation.

"We can take them!" Stu said.

"I'm sure we could," he replied.  "But how many would we lose doing it?  Ten
maybe, perhaps fifteen if our friend rallies quickly enough.  Not only that,
we would end up having to kill a lot of the women since they seem to be
using them as soldiers."

"That's the cost of war," Stu said.

"Yes, but there's no sense paying it if you don't have to.  We'll take this
town, and soon.  But we're not going to do it with a platoon.  Tomorrow at
first light, we're gonna head back to Auburn.  When we come back here, it
will be with a company at least.  As incompetent as they look on the
surface, I don't think we should take any chances with them.  When we
strike, we'll strike with overwhelming numbers."


Al Steiner - 12-06-00
Chapter 8 to follow.
Send all comments to steiner_al@hotmail.com
Previous chapters can be found at www.storiesonline.net

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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