The door opened a few more inches and stopped, the weight of a much larger person holding it closed.

  “He knows!” a man yelled as the pressure against the door momentarily released and came back with more force as the man shouldered the door closed.

  Jacob backed off. What should he do now?

  A gunshot answered his question.

  Chapter Seven

  Jacob dove away from the door as a bullet splintered through it leaving a gaping hole. Three more shots followed as he rolled off the porch and took cover behind it, keeping himself flat against the grass as the last projectile sailed over him.

  Hearing the gunshots, Deyerle jumped out of the Jeep and grabbed the shotgun, aiming it over the side of the Jeep in the direction of the house.

  “Don’t shoot!” Jacob yelled, turning only his head and attempting to wave his arms. “There’s a child in there!”

  Deyerle racked the weapon, but didn’t fire.

  The flashlights of the neighbors illuminated the area as their casual and curious pace became a fevered motion. Someone they knew and lived near was in trouble.

  “Who’s over there?” a man yelled from the street. “Identify yourself!”

  “It’s Jacob Craft! Reverend Jacob Craft of Saint Nicolas Church!” Jacob yelled, not knowing if the approaching men were armed.

  Inside the house furniture banged around. Were they barricading the door? Jacob took the noises to mean the person who had done the shooting was distracted and lifted himself to his feet, staying low as he crossed the front yard and took cover behind the Jeep.

  “What the hell happened?” Deyerle asked.

  Jacob shook his head. “Someone’s inside. They tried to use Jimmy’s boy to get me to go away.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Stay back!” Jacob yelled, waving his hand at a man with a flashlight who was dangerously close to the line of fire.

  “Pastor Jake?” the man said. “What’s happening?”

  Jacob recognized the voice, but couldn’t put a face or name with it. “Home invaders! Stay back! And turn that light off!”

  More gunshots sounded from inside the house and the man dove to the ground, covering the flashlight with his body as he scurried to turn it off. The other neighbors who had been making their way up the street were now keeping a safe distance.

  “What do we do?” Deyerle repeated.

  Jacob stared into the darkness as he considered the options. He’d been in situations like this before in Afghanistan, pinned down behind a vehicle and drawing fire from a nearby building. Sometimes there were civilians inside and sometimes there weren’t. Most of the time it didn’t matter either way. The answer was to fire back. The lives of the men with him mattered more than the lives of a few Afghans, most of whom would be killed by the terrorists inside before long if they hadn’t been already.

  But this was different. He wasn’t in Afghanistan. He was in America―or what was left of it―and the people inside the building mattered. Jimmy Cundiff mattered.

  “Hey inside!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “You can have whatever’s in the house, just send out the people! We just want the people!”

  No response came and for several seconds Jacob just sat and listened. Were the invaders even there anymore? Had the last gunshots been the deaths of Jimmy and his family as their assailants fled through a back door?

  He placed his head in his hands and rubbed his face in frustration. Someone had to make a move.

  “You have anything besides that shotgun?”

  Deyerle rose up and reached into the Jeep, careful not to expose anymore of his body than he had to. “Here,” he said, handing over a Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol as he returned.

  Jacob looked the weapon over, released the magazine, and counted the rounds.

  “It’s full and there’s one in the pipe,” Deyerle said.

  Jacob replaced the magazine. He leaned around the edge of the Jeep and looked at the areas surrounding the Cundiff house. “We need to find out if they’re still inside. I’m going around the back and using the fence to hide my approach.” The white picket fence that surrounded the property and cordoned off the main yard from the larger acreage, which Jimmy used to grow vegetables, wasn’t much in the way of cover, but it was something.

  “I’m comin’ with you.”

  “No. Stay here. Cover the front in case they come this way, but don’t engage them until we know where the Cundiffs are.”

  “Alright.” Deyerle turned and leveled the shotgun on the front seat of the Jeep, taking aim at the front door.

  Jacob leaned out for a quick look at the front door. Seeing nothing alarming, he bolted forward in a low run, reaching the fence and jumping over it in rapid succession. So far no one had fired at him. That was a good sign. Maybe the invaders had fled from another entrance. The home had plenty of them.

  He kept low, moving across the back of the house and peering through the fence slats. As he reached a row of tall cypress trees planted along the fence to create shade in the yard, the back door opened, its hinges squealing.

  Jacob stopped, staring into the darkness toward the house. Slowly, a human shape emerged onto the back patio aiming what appeared to be an assault rifle. Jacob had no desire to engage these people, whoever they were. If they were content to leave without incident, he was content to let them.

  Two more shapes exited the house as the first man stepped into the yard, sweeping his rifle around. The second man out didn’t appear to have any weapons, but what he did have made Jacob freeze. A human being with its arms tied behind its back and a black hood over its head struggled along, a rope secured around its neck. Jacob stared, looking for anything that might identify the person. A gold watch on the wrist of an African-American arm caught his eye. The man in the hood was Jimmy Cundiff.

  Three more shapes followed, the first again leading the others on a rope, one of them being six-year-old Stevie Cundiff, judging by height. Bringing up the rear, the last man to exit the house watched carefully and swept another assault rifle over the grounds.

  Jacob swore under his breath. This wasn’t a home invasion. It was a kidnapping. What should he do? Could he get the drop on them? It might work if they only had the two rifles between them, but what if the others were armed with smaller weapons? Pistols perhaps. He couldn’t take on all four of them, but what other choice did he have? He needed the Cundiffs. Amsterdam needed them.

  He raised himself up, aiming the Smith and Wesson and leveling his arms between the fence slats. He had one distinct advantage. He knew where they were, but they didn’t know where he was and the darkness would hopefully keep it that way. He aimed at the man bringing up the rear as he continued to sweep his rifle right and left as the group started toward the opposite side of the house.

  “Lord make me accurate,” Jacob said under his breath as the man swept left, exposing his center mass. Jacob squeezed the trigger twice and the man stopped, the rifle dropping to the ground a second later as the man fell forward and hit the ground face first.

  “Move!” one of the men yelled, pulling the Cundiffs toward the other side of the house as the second assault rifle man rushed back to cover them.

  Jacob aimed the pistol, intent on taking another man down, but they moved faster than he’d planned, putting the Cundiffs between themselves and their attacker. He dove to the ground as the man with the assault rifle opened fire, hoping the man hadn’t seen exactly where the shots had come from as bullets whizzed over his head, chopping branches from the trees and raining them down. The cover fire continued for what seemed like a minute or more, though Jacob knew it had only been a few seconds. When it stopped, he raised himself up again, watching carefully as the man fumbled with a new magazine to replace the one that had just run out. Could he get off a shot without hitting one of the Cundiffs?

  Noticing movement between the trees, the gunman dropped the assault rifle and drew a pistol from his belt. Jacob dove to a prone position as the man opened fire. Not wanting to hit the Cundiffs by mistake, he aimed his return fire at the brick house over the man’s head, hoping it would cause him to run for cover and stop firing. As the three rounds he fired impacted the house, tearing loose chunks of brick, the man turned and ran, continuing to fire from a half-turned position as he moved to the corner of the house.

  Jacob continued his return fire, purposely aiming it away as the man disappeared around the side of the house. Cautiously, he rose up and climbed the fence, entering the backyard and crossing to the patio where he took cover behind one of the four concrete columns holding up the overhanging roof. He looked back into the yard at the gunman he’d shot. The man was motionless and showing no signs of being a continued threat.

  Gunshots sounded from around the side of the house and the distinct blast of a shotgun responded. Had Deyerle not seen the Cundiffs being dragged along? Jacob ran to the corner of the house and leaned out, using the side of it to cover as much of his body as possible as he turned and aimed. Twenty yards away, in a separate and seldom used driveway, two gunman aimed pistols toward the front yard as another shoved the last of the Cundiffs into a vehicle. Jacob stared at the vehicle, momentarily awed by it. Who were these people that they had what appeared to be a Humvee? The movements of the men from the house flashed through his mind. They’d moved in formation like a trained hostage rescue team. Were they police? Military? Why would either one want to kidnap the Cundiffs?

  The diesel engine of the Humvee grumbled to life and the brake lights illuminated the area in a reddish hue. Jacob watched as the two remaining gunman entered and the wheels spun in the gravel, jutting the beastly vehicle forward. Speeding up as the tires gained traction, the driver piloted it off the driveway and into the yard. Jacob ran forward, watching as the vehicle descended a steep hill, bouncing over the harsh and rocky terrain like it was nothing. With six bodies in a crowded interior that he was all too familiar with, he didn’t dare fire his weapon in an effort to stop their escape.

  “Jacob?” someone yelled.

  He turned to see Deyerle near the Jeep, shining a flashlight around the back side of the property.

  “I’m here!”

  Deyerle left the Jeep and rushed across the front yard. “Are you hit?”

  Jacob shook his head as he continued to watch the Humvee fade into the distance.

  “Well let’s get after them! We’ve got wheels!”

  The Humvee reached the edge of the Cundiffs property, tore through the white picket fence, and bounced onto the road, speeding up and disappearing around a corner a second later.

  “C’mon!”

  Jacob jarred his mind back into the fight and started towards the Jeep. Deyerle tossed him the shotgun and entered the driver’s seat, cranking the engine to life by turning the key and pushing repeatedly on the accelerator to keep it going.

  “They’ve got the Cundiffs.”

  “I know.”

  “We can’t risk them being hurt.”

  “Either we risk it or we let these guys get away and we’ll for sure never see the Cundiffs again.”

  Deyerle pressed down on the gas pedal and the Jeep shot backward, tearing into the yard as he turned the wheel and brought it to a stop. He shifted furiously, grinding the gears out of reverse and into drive. The headlights illuminated several of the neighbors who had gathered by the mailbox of the stately as he brought the Jeep around into a forward position. Cutting the corner of the driveway, he bounced through the yard, causing the neighbors to flee as he mowed down the mailbox and fishtailed onto the road.

  Jacob held on to the seat and the windshield frame, looking ahead for any sign of the Humvee. Darkness closed in around them as they entered a tree covered section of the road, crossing in and out of lanes to keep the Jeep moving as straight and fast as possible on the windy road.

  “Careful,” Jacob called. “They can’t get out this way. The road’s blocked up ahead by the interstate bridge. We could be driving into an ambush.”

  Deyerle downshifted and slowed as they entered a sharp bend, turning off the headlights. Jacob counted the rounds he’d fired back at the house in his head. He had five left. Nowhere near enough for another fire fight. “You have any extra mags?”

  Deyerle reached into the pocket of his BDUs and produced two. Jacob released the one he currently had, allowing it to fall onto the floorboard as he pushed in another.

  He stood and aimed the pistol over the windshield frame as the trees up ahead reflected the reddish glow of brake lights. The kidnappers had reached the place where Mace Mundy and a team of Amsterdam freedom fighters had blown the northbound interstate bridge in an effort to close off access to the area during their battle against the militias a few years earlier.

  With life only just beginning to get back to some sense of normal about three years ago, the state hadn’t gotten around to fixing the bridge yet and had instead diverted interstate traffic onto the southbound bridge, making for a tight drive and a lot of accidents and traffic jams.

  Deyerle brought the Jeep to a crawl as they approached. The Humvee was sitting idle in the middle of the road fifty yards ahead while its occupants apparently planned their next move. Would they turn and try to fight their way out? The way they had exited the house told Jacob that was far more likely than them giving up. He watched intently.

  Suddenly the driver gunned the engine, the roar filling the hollow as the vehicle shot forward.

  “Dammit!” Deyerle yelled, pounding his fist on the steering wheel as he shifted through the gears rapidly. “He’s taking the hill!”

  The Humvee pulled off the road, its wheels grinding down scrub pines and overgrown weeds as it ascended the steep hill beside the interstate bridge.

  Deyerle piloted the Jeep forward, but the Humvee was high above them before they could reach it, tearing through the overgrowth like an armored lawn mower. He stopped at the base of the hill, knowing the old Willys couldn’t climb anywhere near as well as its modern cousin.

  Jacob exited, stowing his pistol in his pocket and running up the hill on his hands and knees, following the Humvee’s hewn down path. The engine roared above him and as he crested the hill the Humvee entered the empty northbound lane of the interstate heading south. He placed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath as the lights of the vehicle began to grow distant on the smooth flat surface.

  “Damn!” Deyerle exclaimed as he arrived.

  Jacob returned to a standing position and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. What did they do now? The Cundiff Family was gone and with them any hope of restarting the Amsterdam power supply.

  Chapter Eight

  6:23 a.m.

  Event + 01:23 Hours

  As he stood there staring at the now empty stretch of interstate in front of him, Jacob slowly realized that the jet black sky had turned a twilight blue. The sun was rising. Craning his neck from side to side, he watched as flocks of birds took flight from nearby trees and rose into the air, gliding on the light breeze. But for the lack of any traffic on the normally congested road beside him, it could be just another peaceful morning in the country and he wished it was.

  The rumble of an engine drew his attention and he turned with Deyerle to look down the hill at the Jeep as Mace Mundy’s seventies model Ford pickup came to a stop behind it.

  “I heard the gunfire all the way at the farm. What happened?” the coverall-wearing farmer asked as he left the vehicle carrying a bolt-action hunting rifle.

  “They’re gone,” Jacob said, descending the hill by grabbing onto what was left of a few scrub pines to avoid sliding.

  “Who’s gone?”

  “The Cundiffs and the guys who took them.”

  “Took them?”

  Jacob shook his head and caught Mundy up on what had happened since they’d arrived at the Cundiff residence.

  “A Humvee? Don’t see too many of those around here. You think they were Army?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It didn’t look armored.”

  Mundy lifted an eyebrow.

  “If it was Army the vehicle would have still been armored. This one wasn’t. That usually means it’s been stripped down to be auctioned off as surplus.”

  “So it could have been civilians?”

  “Yeah. They moved like they’d been trained to do what they were doing, but they weren’t wearing uniforms and the vehicle didn’t have any identifying marks—not even a license plate.”

  “I know one way we might find out,” Deyerle said, sliding down the hill on his butt.

  Jacob and Mundy looked at him.

  “You said you killed one of them, didn’t you?”

  Jacob thought back to the gunman he’d shot in the backyard of the Cundiff residence and nodded, the deed slowly registering with him. He’d killed a man. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time in a long time.

  “Maybe he’s got something on him that will tell us where he came from and who he belongs with.”

  Mundy shouldered his rifle and started back to the truck. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Jacob blinked and frowned.

  “You okay?” Deyerle asked.

  Jacob shrugged. Was he okay? He was drawing breath and not bleeding profusely from anywhere. “Yeah,” he finally said. “This just isn’t how I saw my morning starting.”

  Deyerle snorted and placed the shotgun behind the front seats of the Jeep. “For what it’s worth,” he said, sliding onto the driver’s seat. “I saw the old Jacob Craft back there in the darkness—the one I liked—the one I’d follow into battle any day of the week. You remember him? The guy who led us to victory against not one gaggle of murderous thugs, but three?”

  “How could I forget?” Jacob asked rhetorically as he stepped up into the Jeep and sat down in the passenger seat.

 

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