“Be advised, we’ve got a sensor that just tripped near the main gate. Southeast corner. Alex, what’s your twenty?” Cam’s voice came through the radio.
“I’m headed in that direction right now, coming down the east fence line. I think I see movement …”
“What’s going on man?” Zach asked as he reached for his radio and rolled out of bed.
“Not sure. Let’s go check it out,” Graham replied, shoving his legs into his cargos and snagging a t-shirt from the floor.
“And here I was hoping for another round—” Zach started to say. But the radio cut him off.
“We got company, boys. Three. Looks like Duck Dynasty rejects. You want me to engage or wait on backup? Never mind. Fuck. They’ve got bolt cutters and are cutting through the fence. I’m going in,” Alex finished.
Graham pressed the button his radio. “Do not engage. Wait for backup. You don’t know what they’re carrying. We’re headed your way. Be there ASAP.”
“I’m not waiting for them to get in here, G. I can’t stand for that,” Alex argued.
“Shut the fuck up and stand down.”
Graham shot a glance at Ro, who was wide-awake and wide-eyed at the radio chatter. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know. Get some clothes on. I’m going to check this shit out. Zach will take you to mess hall and get you locked up tight with Allison.”
He gave her a quick kiss and handed her the backup sidearm he kept in the nightstand, and then he was out the door.
As soon a Graham left the cabin, his radio blared to life again.
“They’re inside the fence. I can take them out,” Alex reported.
“I’m in the southwest corner and coming your way, man,” Ty replied.
Shit. Graham was closer. He’d get to Alex way before Ty. It wasn’t that Alex couldn’t handle himself, but he’d shoot first and ask questions later. And Graham wanted answers more than he wanted dead bodies.
Graham headed to the armory and grabbed an M4. They were all going to have to start carrying them everywhere. Just like they had when they were deployed. He hated that they had to take that kind of precaution in their home, but it was better than the alternative: being caught with their pants down and getting fucked up the ass. Cam was holding down the command post when Graham ducked his head inside.
“Who else is on watch?”
“Travis. But he’s way the fuck out on the north edge.”
A shotgun blast ripped through the silence of the morning.
Neither Alex nor Ty carried a shotgun.
“Fuck!” Graham yelled. “Alex, sitrep!”
The sharp report of a rifle was the only response. Two shots. Another shotgun blast. And then silence.
It was a bad fucking sign when a Marine didn’t keep firing until he emptied his magazine. Unless Alex was taking cover. He might finally be listening to Graham, though he knew it was unlikely.
“Sitrep!” Graham yelled into his radio, and he took off toward the bolt hole. He didn’t want the main gate open at a time like this.
No answer.
Fuck.
When he reached the wall to slide the metal bar and swing the door open, Jamie and Beau were right behind him.
Graham led, melting into the woods and moving silently toward the location of the breach. As soon as he heard voices, he halted, holding up a fist.
“He dead, Mel?”
An icy mantle settled over Graham. The one he donned every time he knew he was about to kill.
“I dunno, Len. Dwayne, check and see,” a man, presumably Mel, grunted. “That fucker shot me in the goddamn shoulder. Twice. He better be fucking dead. You better fucking shoot him in the goddamn head.”
Graham moved soundlessly toward the voices, knowing Beau and Jamie followed directly behind him. He caught sight of three camo-and-flannel-clad figures, one using his shotgun to nudge Alex’s prone form. Blood dripped from Alex’s head—a small puddle had formed in the dirt. Another man was reaching down to check a pulse. The one with a dark spot expanding on the upper right corner of his flannel shirt pulled out a revolver from his waistband.
“Fuck it. I’m shooting him anyway.”
Graham lifted his rifle, and before the man could pull back the hammer, Graham unleashed a spray of bullets. The man dropped where he stood. Another man with scraggily dark hair swung around and lifted the shotgun. Jamie and Graham fired, and he crumpled. The third took off on a dead run, but Graham didn’t give chase. He dropped to his knees beside Alex. Beau was checking his carotid for a pulse.
“He’s alive.”
A burst of rifle fire had Graham whipping his head around, gun at the ready. Nothing. He glanced back to Beau, who was pulling on nitrile gloves and checking for injuries. He unzipped his kit and pulled out a clotting sponge to stop the bleeding from the head wound. Beau carefully lifted Alex’s black t-shirt, and Graham could see the divots where the shot pellets had impacted the body armor. Thank fucking Christ.