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“Yeah. Good thing I got that concealed carry license.” Nic patted the cargo pocket on his work pants.
“Too many contractors get robbed by druggies. Better safe than sorry.” Michael joined Nic at the back of the truck and studied the two-story house. Movement at both upstairs windows caught his attention. “Are the owners living here?”
“No, it’s empty.”
Michael grabbed Nic’s arm and pulled him around the far side of the truck and down into a crouch. “There’s people in there, watching.” He pulled the nine-mil from the back of his pants.
Nic drew his weapon—just a tiny .380—and duck walked to the front of the truck. “There shouldn’t be anyone inside. I’ll check. On three.”
Michael turned his back on Nic and scanned their surroundings. Nothing unusual. He relaxed his gaze, unfocusing his eyes slightly, watching for movement. “I got your six.”
“Three, two—” Nic popped his upper body around the front bumper and returned. “Both upstairs and downstairs windows have movement or shadows. It’s an ambush.”
Michael opened the truck’s back door and slid the AR-15 out, then grabbed his vest, handing it to Nic, and slung his backpack on. Nic tried to shove the vest back. “You’ve got kids. Take the vest.” Nic slid it over his head and tightened the straps. Michael handed him the rifle. “Extra mags in my backpack.”
Nic shoved his handgun back in his pocket, and took the rifle, checking the chamber and the safety. “We’ve been here too long. They’ll be sending people out. We can move through the houses behind us or try to drive out.”
“Let’s try the truck first.” A pop, and air hissed; another pop, and the hissing increased—they’d taken out both tires facing the house. “Suppressor. You lead the way.” If the enemy was firing suppressed weapons inside city limits, they’d just taken the fight to a whole new level. They’d get a little farther away, then call 911.
Nic sprinted to the small garage just to their south. Bullets thwacked into the wood siding behind him. Nic and Michael waited for the bad guys to run out of ammo, then Nic popped around the corner of the garage, firing the rifle. The AR’s suppressor didn’t work as well the bad guys’ smaller weapon. Nic’s four-round burst was louder, but the shattering glass and the screams that followed meant all chances of a quiet battle were gone.
Michael waited for Nic to fire again, then ran to the other end of the garage, cursing his unreliable back when his muscles seized momentarily. He stumbled and almost fell, but made it, bullets spraying splinters around him. He kept moving around the back of the small building, put his back to Nic’s, and pulled his phone, dialing 911 with his left hand. “This is Michael Acer. Somebody’s shooting at us! They’re in the big house under construction on 9th Street. Send help! They shot out our tires. We’re running.” He hung up and dialed Wiz. “Taking fire. E&E on foot; need a safe house or ride.”
“Copy under fire; E&E on foot. Looking for options. Head downtown to Sam’s. Will text updates. Notifying all parties including Nic’s family. Will secure them ASAP. Wiz out.”
Michael made sure his phone was on vibrate and put it in his pocket. He pulled his backpack off and handed Nic two magazines, picking up the ejected empty. Michael waited for Nic to finish his next triple burst. “Sam’s office if we can get there. Wiz is contacting Kim.”
Nic flattened his back against the garage, breathing hard as bullets thudded into the wood. “Thanks. We can try for downtown, but we’re a half-a-mile from there. We’ll draw some attention for sure.”
Even in Marcus, openly armed people were unusual. But they didn’t have much choice. Stay and die, or escape, evade and live—maybe. “We head for that house—” Michael pointed at the one in front of them, another older home “—then across the street and into the next alley if there’s no tall fences. Be ready to move left or right. I’ll go while you fire, then cover you.”
“Three, two, go!” Nic bent around the side of the garage and the AR spat.
Michael sprinted for the corner of the house, spun, and raised his pistol, pointing it above Nic’s head. “Go!”
Nic ran to Michael’s left, out of his line of sight, so the enemy couldn’t see him from the ground level. If they still had someone posted in the upper windows of the construction project, the two of them wouldn’t make it. After Nic reached his position, Michael took a step back and spun. As Nic aimed at the enemy, Michael jogged to the end of the house, searching for threats up and down the quiet residential street and the line of houses across the road. “Nic, go!” He turned and covered Nic’s retreat, glancing over his shoulder to check Nic’s progress.
Nic sprinted past him, across the street, and crouched by the corner of an older log cabin, the perfect material to soak up bullets. Michael turned to follow, but a round smacked the side of the house where his head had just been. He twisted back, fired three shots in return, then stepped backwards, keeping the pistol raised. A weapon appeared at the corner of the house, and Michael fired another three rounds. Eleven remained in his magazine. He backed and slid around his corner, darting out to see if the enemy was following. Nic would watch his six.
Tires screeched and Michael spun to meet the new threat. The driver’s window on a huge shiny black SUV lowered, showing the upper half of a man’s face. “Come on, get in!” The driver looked familiar, but that didn’t mean he was a good guy. “FBI! Trevor Mills, remember me?” The driver shoved a shiny badge out the window.
At a distance, the badge could be a fake, but if there were more than two enemies, he and Nic were dead, and there could be a lot of civilian casualties. Mills was much younger, in the same high school class as Deb, but the face looked right. Michael ran for the SUV, going around the far side. “Nic, come on. It’s the feds!” He opened the door and dove in, scrambling across the back seat.
Nic bounded inside and slammed the door shut. “Go!”
Tires screeched again as Mills fled the scene. As they almost slid around the corner, stars appeared on the back windows, but they didn’t shatter. He and Nic ducked. Must be an official vehicle with shatter resistant glass.
“Acer, right?” The driver’s voice was calm. “Call Sam. We’ll pick her up, then Nic’s wife and kids.”
“You’re really Mills?” Nic pointed the AR’s barrel over the seats at the driver’s head.
The driver threw a flat dark object between the seats. Michael caught the wallet and opened it. “Trevor Mills, Special Agent.” The shiny badge glimmered in the dim light the smoked glass side windows allowed. A government access card displayed a solemn picture of the driver. If it was fake, it was a good one.
Nic pulled the rifle away, putting it between his legs with the barrel pointed at the car’s roof. “Good enough.” He buckled his seat belt.
Michael tossed the wallet back to Mills and pulled his phone, dialing Sam’s office.
A female voice answered. “Attorneys at Law, may I help you?”
