“Open up, buttercup,” John yelled almost cheerily now that the evening’s grueling task was completed.
A second later, he and Jared were rewarded as the door opened, revealing two ashen-faced men. Barry and Dwight had watched the entire event, and although Barry saw the two bikers gunned down and Dwight had done some shooting himself, neither man ever witnessed such a display of one-sided violent savagery.
“Jesus,” Dwight croaked. “You guys butchered—like, a dozen people out there. It wasn’t even a fair fight.”
John shoved his way past the two men and dropped the weapons on the floor, as did Jared. John turned and was halfway back out the door when he stopped and squared up on Dwight and Barry.
“These boys thought you were in here by yourself,” he quipped, staring directly at Dwight. “And they brought twelve dudes. You think that’s a fair fight?” John growled, shooting Dwight a sidelong look. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Dwight’s mouth moved, but no words escaped his lips.
“In a fair fight, it’s a fucking coin toss as to who wins, fellas, and I’ve never been a big gambler. I’d much rather shoot a naked guy in the back than stand face-to-face with the bastard and duke it out. That’s how one of us—the good guys—gets hurt or killed,” John snapped.
Without further words, John turned and walked back out into the yard. Jared looked at Dwight and Barry, pursed his lips, then followed John into the night. They went out to the last sniper John shot and grabbed his rifle. It turned out to be a .22-caliber Ruger, four ten-round magazines, and over five hundred rounds of ammunition.
“Score,” John said in a hushed tone. “I’m taking this bad boy back to the house. Great for hunting small game, and he’s got a ton of ammo to boot.” John slung the Ruger over a shoulder and stuffed all the ammunition into his cargo pockets before setting off towards the first and most unfortunate soul he’d killed that evening.
When they reached the first man John had killed that evening, Jared fought the urge to gasp. Mother Nature had a never-ending number of beautiful things for a man to lay his eyes on, and death was not one of them. The man no longer hemorrhaged blood, but the aftermath was about the most gruesome thing Jared had seen to date. Even John took a moment to observe the gruesome scene. Suddenly the smell struck both men, and they staggered back.
“Ah, for crying out loud, he shit himself,” John exclaimed once he was at a safe distance.
Jared pulled his shirt above his nose in an act of self-preservation. John darted in and grabbed the man’s rifle but didn’t bother with any further searching of the man’s pockets or gear. The man had been carrying a .22-caliber Marlin model 795 repeater. The rifle was adorned with a Leupold VS Freedom 3X9 scope. John hefted the rifle, then tossed it to Jared, who caught the rifle awkwardly.
“Now you got a squirrel gun. We can pop critters together when we get back.” John relayed gleefully.
Once Jared was sure the rifle wasn’t covered in blood or bodily fluids, he slung it over his shoulder.
As John and Jared walked back to the house, John smiled at Jared. “Never was much of a control guy, kinda thought it all went against the Constitution, but now I am one hundred percent for gun control. I wanna control all the guns. Too many assholes out here doing the wrong thing with ’em. Unfortunately, gun control laws seem to only weaken those who actually follow the laws.”
Chapter 18
Once they were safely back inside the house, John and Jared cannibalized the only two AR-15 platforms they could find, and retrieved the internal parts. When they were done, both men set about altering the shape of the barrels and stocks of the remaining rifles. The task was harder than Jared expected, but, in the end, Dwight brought a large hammer from his garage, and the two beat the weapons into a useless pile of high-grade steel and aluminum. When they finished, they unceremoniously tossed all of the broken parts out the side door and locked themselves inside again.
Using a dirty sleeve, Jared wiped his sweat-covered face before turning to Dwight. “You got any whiskey?”
John immediately perked up after he wiped sweat from his face.
“I have whiskey,” Dwight replied.
“Good man.” John chortled. “Where is it, and where are some glasses? You gotta have glasses up in this pad.”
Dwight scurried away and was gone for nearly five minutes while the other three sat in relative silence. Jared could tell Barry wanted to talk about what happened here tonight, but Jared really didn’t feel like rehashing events until he had a relaxer on board. When Dwight returned, he was carrying four glasses and an unopened bottle of Michter’s twenty-five-year-old single-barrel limited-release straight bourbon.
Wordlessly the men moved to a large oak dining room table and saddled up two on each side. Dwight dropped the glasses in front of John, who pushed them out to each man. Next, Dwight removed the top to the bottle and reverently poured two fingers for each man. Jared took the glass and swirled the brown liquid, thinking of his time with Bart that seemed like so long ago, yet in reality was only a couple of months ago.
Jared had enjoyed many evenings with Bart, the older gruff bastard who had taken him in when he would have almost certainly died on the streets directly after the event. Bart had given him a weapon and taught him how to use it. He’d also introduced Jared to whiskey. Jared’s lips curled into
