Chapter 3: SWATed
The rest of the day went normally. The schedule was normal: Church, breakfast, parish activity du jour, early dinner, and Jeremy goes to play with his friends, while Mariel and I play with each other...
What? How else did you think Mariel became pregnant?
Ironically, it was Jeremy’s recently found fame that allowed for Mariel’s current condition. After facing down a serial killer and being kidnapped by a deranged death cult, Jeremy had become a source of fascination for his classmates. This led to a lot of busy weekends of fun for Jeremy, and lots of privacy for us.
Remember, when Catholics get married, part of the marriage contract is to contribute to the gene pool as much as possible.
By nine o’clock that evening, we were all ready to sleep.
There is a reason that the first words of every angel in the Bible tend to be “Be not afraid.”
That is because angels of the Lord are totally terrifying.
In my dream, the body was made of fire. The wings looked like butterfly wings, taller and wider than the main body. And it looked like a Kaiju that would make Godzilla crawl back into the sea and ask directions for the Marianas Trench. Its sword was a cross between a big broadsword and a lightsaber, and big enough to cleave the world in half.
When it told me to Be Not Afraid, it sounded musical and lyrical and at total odds with the creature in front of me.
“Thomas Nolan! Judge and Prophet of the Lord! Awake and smite the agents of Satan!”
I was out of bed, on my feet, with a gun in my hand before I knew I was awake.
I turned and violently shook Mariel awake. Her eyes snapped open, and she reached for her side table, then hesitated when she recognized me. At least, she hadn’t shanked me with the flip knife at her side.
I told her, simply, “One-A.”
It was the plan for her to hunker down and wait in Jeremy’s room—mostly because his room’s door opened almost straight into the staircase. Anyone who came up the stairs would get to the second landing, turn left, and go up four more steps.
She got up and grabbed her rifle, next to her side table. She slung the strap over her head, then grabbed the shotgun, next to the rifle. Then she grabbed her pistol and held it in her other hand. I did the same, mostly to horde the weapons as they hunkered down.
We were, after a fashion, preppers. Mostly because after the first two home invasions by supernatural and demonic forces, we came prepared.
I led the way as Mariel carried the weapons behind her. I waited until she was in Jeremy’s room, then handed her the shotgun. I left the rifle slung over my shoulder, and carried the pistol in hand. It was a Browning Hi-Powered. It wasn’t exactly department issue, but I had started a collection of larger caliber guns since the death cult came for us.
I took the stairs carefully and quietly. I took one step down from the top landing when the door crashed in. I dropped to a crouch and waited. I didn’t scream out a warning, since I didn’t want to give away my position. And since the front door was made of metal, just kicking the door in wasn’t an option, so they weren’t simple home invaders.
Also, I was told to smite the agents of Satan, so I could only conclude that these dirt bags weren’t here to play.
They swept in like a well-oiled machine, a snake-like line of men carrying body armor and rifles. The first one looked up at me—directly at me, I’m certain—and whispered, “Clear.”
The leader moved the muzzle down and ahead.
I waited until I could clearly see the tail end of this serpent. There were only six of them.
After the third one moved into the living room and broke to their left (heading towards our dining room), the fourth one stepped into the living room and moved for the steps.
That’s when I opened fire. The first bullet slammed into the armored helmet, slamming the man’s head into the wall. The second round punched through the man’s neck. He collapsed without a sound, but I had already moved onto the next man in order. I took a step back, onto the landing, as I fired again. Both bullets found their mark, though not the way I wanted. One bullet merely collided with the Kevlar vest—but the force of the round cracked the collar bone. The next one punched under the arm, into the armpit, and pinballed around through the rib cage, caged inside by Kevlar.
The third one turned his attention to me, and I triple-tapped him. Three rounds from the Hi-Power knocked him back, and he involuntarily opened fire with a string of bullets that cut right above my head. I dove up the stairs, getting out of the line of sight and line of fire.
I scrambled up the stairs. I swung around the wall at the top of the stairs. I dropped back to a crouch. The were well-armed, and had good tactics. The first thing I could think of was: We’re screwed. Dear Lord. We’ll need some help here.
There were stomps as one of them charged up the stairs. I was ready to intercept them as soon as they appeared. But after only eight steps, they stopped. I couldn’t figure out why for a second.
Then I heard the distinct metallic scrape of a pin being pulled out of a grenade.
The instant the next attacker leaned over to aim, I fired twice. His arm had been up and ready to hurl his device. The helmet’s visor cracked, and his head snapped back with the bullet. The second bullet punched into his wrist, shattering it. He fell back with a scream, and so did his grenade. There were a few gasps from down below once they realized what had happened.
I ducked back and covered my ears. Which was a good idea, because the explosion was bright and loud enough to make your eyes and ears bleed if you were too close.
Thankfully for my home, it was a flash bang, not a fragmentation or incendiary.
Since I only had two bullets left, I unslung my rifle and darted across Mariel’s line of fire for the little room leading up to the attic. We hadn’t decided what else to do with it yet, so it was still filled with boxes of random stuff we still hadn’t unpacked yet.
We all waited for a long moment, listening intently. The next one up came up quietly. Mariel hadn’t waited for the gunman to notice her. His helmet appeared, and she fired three times. His helmet snapped to one side. His head crashed into the window on the second landing.
It was followed by multiple rounds of blind fire in automatic bursts. Mariel rolled out of the way of the gunfire. This fifth gunman fired off a few rounds every step, keeping Mariel back.
I waited as he came up, one step at a time, one burst at a time. I pressed myself against the wall, I almost felt him coming closer.
Then I heard the slide of an empty magazine ejecting from the gun and thumping on the floor.
I wheeled around the doorway before the gunman had even had a chance to grab a fresh magazine. I jammed the muzzle of my Browning underneath the man’s chin and pulled the trigger twice, firing the last two bullets. The brain and bone spattered out of the helmet ...
And into the visor of the gunman right behind him.
Oh Nuts.
I dropped the pistol and brought up my rifle. It collided with the rifle of the other gunman, and he smashed into me. He drove me into the room of junk, slamming me into the door. The gunman reared back with his right fist. I jerked my head to one side, and he punched the wall. He cursed.
I twisted with my rifle counter-clockwise as I twisted my body the same way. The butt of my AR-15 cracked against the gunman’s helmet while I slipped out of the way. I shoved off of the gunman and raised my rifle.
The gunman spun. He smacked the muzzle of my rifle off line as he raised his own. I raised my knee as high as I could, then kicked down at the muzzle of his gun, shoving it to the floor. As my foot came down, I reared forward, shoving my left forearm into his throat.
I jammed my rifle down into the boot of the gunman, then fired. He screamed. My left forearm was still in his throat. I drove my elbow into the helmet, forcing him to look to my left. My fingers found the back of his helmet, hooking underneath it. I spun to my left and dragged the gunman down by his helmet, throwing him off the wall. He didn’t go far, so I didn’t raise my rifle level with him. I raised the muzzle just enough to shoot him in the back of the knee. He screamed and fell forward, away from me.
My rifle came up, and I fired. I didn’t even count the bullets I fired into him. I only stopped pulling the trigger when he went down.
I took a slow, deep breath.
I swung around. “Mariel, don’t shoot. I’m crossing your field of fire.”
I moved into the hall, then down the stairs. I cleared the house in less than a minute. I lowered my gun about the time that the sirens rang outside. I placed the gun down and started turning on the lights, keeping at least one hand up at all times. I knew the uniforms that arrived, one of them was Sgt. Mary Russell.
Russell stood in the doorway between the enclosed front porch and the living room, stopping before the first body. She looked down at the body, then at me. She considered me, then shrugged. “Nice boxers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee. Thanks.”
She laughed as she shook her head and holstered her gun. She looked over the bodies. “Dang, Wyatt. Don’t you have quiet days?”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s been quiet for months.”
Her eyebrows went up, and smiled. “Twice in one day, though? At least, you’re making up for lost time.”
I sighed. “Apparently.”
She looked down at the corpse, and I did as well. The Kevlar was strange, mainly because there was black masking tape on it... and the helmet. I glanced to the other corpses in the room and on the stairs. The masking tape was on all of them.
What the?
I stepped forward and crouched down by the nearest corpse. I reached over to the edge of the masking tape, gently teasing the tape over. I only needed a corner to come off. It revealed the upper corner of a letter: S.
“Crud.”
Russell said, “What’s the matter?”
I rose, and started to work my way up the stairs. “I’m getting dressed. Call the LT. Call the Captain. Then call Statler and Waldorf over at IA.”
“Why?” she called after me.
I stopped on the second landing, around the corpse under the window. “Tell them that the people who tried to kill me are members of a SWAT team.”
Russell gave me a long look. “Congratulations. I guess you’re a cop killer.”