Dead or Alive

Dominic pushed him into the chair, grabbed his right hand, and pressed it against his upper belly. Brian felt the wetness and took his hand away and looked at his fingers. “Aw, shit.”

“Keep the pressure on it.”

“We’re gonna have company. Better check.”

Dominic moved to the window and parted the curtains. Below, lights were coming on in the adobe huts. “They’re coming.” He turned back to Brian, who had his shirt open. There was a pinkie-tip-sized hole about four inches below his right nipple. He pressed his fingertips around the wound and winced. Blood gushed from the wound.

“Rib broken?” Dominic asked from the window.

“Yeah, I think so. Slowed the bullet down. Ah, Jesus, that hurts. Shit, shit, shit! Get that CD I dropped, will you? It was in the safe.”

Dominic grabbed his backpack from the floor, fished inside, came up with a half a dozen maxi-pads. He handed them to Brian, then returned to the window. “We should have brought the real deal.”

“These are better, man, really absorb the blood.” He tore open a pad and pressed it to his chest. “See anything?”

“Lights are on. They’ll be coming. Can you move?”

“Yeah.”

“Gonna see if I can slow them up.”

Dominic grabbed Almasi’s pistol-a Beretta.32 Tomcat semiauto-from the floor.

“What kind of rounds?” Brian asked.

Dominic ejected the magazine and checked. “Hollow-point.”

“Huh. Okay. Get moving.”

Dominic dashed out the door, down the stairs, then out the door. He dropped to a crouch beside the steps, took aim on the westernmost hut, and fired three rounds through the window. Shouts came from inside. The lights went off. Dominic sprinted back into the house, locked the door, then turned right and ran to the corner window. He opened it and fired four shots at the east-side hut, then put five rounds through the front door. The pistol’s slide locked open. He dropped it, ran back upstairs. Brian was on his feet and steadying himself against the desk.

“I’m good. Bleeding’s slowing down. You got a plan?”

“Yep.” Dominic scooped up the CD-ROM from the floor, shoved it into his backpack, then leaned across the desk and jerked the flash drive from the tower’s USB port. “The porch is right below us. Once they make their move, you’re going out the window. Lay flat on the roof. When you hear things start in here, get to the ground and go for the barn. If you feel up to it, go for the car. I’ll meet you along the way. Gimme your gun.”

“Dom-”

“Shut up and give me your gun. Can you handle your pack?” Brian nodded. Dominic handed it to him. “You’re looking green, bro. Sure you’re okay to move?”

“We have a choice?”

“No.”

“Watch the window, give me the play-by-play.”

“Got it.”

Dominic laid both Brownings on the desk, looked around the room. He grabbed Almasi’s desk chair and shoved it toward the door, then did the same with a nearby side table. He bulldozed them through the door, down the hall, then tipped them down the stairs. They tumbled to the bottom and landed in a heap.

“How’re we doing?” he called.

“Nothing yet-wait. Got a body coming out, circling west. He’s got the AK.”

Dominic went into the first guest bedroom and grabbed a nightstand, a floor lamp, and a chair, all of which he shoved down the stairs.

“What the hell are you doin’, Dom?”

“Homemade barricade.”

He repeated the process with the next guest bedroom, then returned to the office. He grabbed his backpack and slipped it on, then grabbed up the Brownings and removed the noise suppressors, then shoved them into his belt.

At the window, Brian said, “You go, cowboy. The other three just came out… Two heading for the porch, another around the front. First one’s coming around the east side now. Hey, I found a surprise in the closet.” He pointed to the corner, where a shotgun was leaning. “Twelve-gauge Mossberg 835. Six rounds loaded.”

Dominic stepped to Brian and gently opened the window. He helped Brian out and held on until he was splayed across the shingles. Dominic said, “I’m going to wait until they’re all in the house. I’ll yell for more ammo. You hear that, you go. How long will you need?”

“Two minutes.”

“I’ll be right behind you. We can’t have them on our tails.”

Dominic closed the window, turned around, snatched up the shotgun, and headed into the hall. From the west-side sitting room came the sound of breaking glass. Down in the foyer, something pounded into the door. Then again, then a third time. The doorjamb cracked, bulged inward. Dominic pumped the shotgun and dropped to his belly and eased the shotgun’s barrel an inch through the banister uprights. In the sitting room he heard a chair leg squelch on wood. A head peeked around the corner, pulled back, then returned. Dominic froze. He held his breath. Nothing to see here, asshole. The pounding on the door became louder, more insistent. The man in the sitting room took one last peek around the corner, then sidestepped, his AK up and tracking along the balcony. He sidestepped one of the toppled nightstands, then went back to the door. He took his left hand off the AK, reached for the doorknob.

Dominic adjusted the shotgun, laid the front site over the man’s chest, and fired. The man staggered backward and slammed into the door and slumped down. Footsteps pounded across the porch and faded away. A few moments later came the sound of breaking glass. One down, three left, Dominic thought. A thought popped into his head. He got up, ran back to the office, and opened the window. He handed one of the Brownings to Brian. “In case they decide to climb.” He closed the window and returned to the hall.

Downstairs, nothing was moving. A full minute passed, then somewhere to Dominic’s right he heard a whispered voice. To the left a hand appeared around the corner and tossed something up the stairs. Grenade, Dominic thought even as it bounced onto the balcony. The shape told him it wasn’t a frag but a flash-bang. They didn’t want to risk killing Almasi. Too late, boys. Dominic pushed himself up, rolled right through the office door, and clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. There was a ringing boom. White light flashed through Dominic’s eyelids. He felt the floor beneath him tremble. He rolled back onto his belly and wriggled back to the door. To his left, a figure was charging up the stairs, firing as he went. Bullets pounded into the wall. The man reached the top of the stairs and stopped, crouching behind the corner post. Dominic drew the Browning from his belt, took aim, and fired. The bullet tore through the man’s exposed kneecap. He screamed and tumbled backward down the stairs. Dominic changed back to the shotgun, got up, raced down the hall. He fired at a head peeking around the sitting-room entrance. Miss. He pumped another round into the chamber, swiveled right, and fired from the hip, hitting the tumbling man center-mass. He landed on the foyer floor and was still. Dominic spun left, ducked into the first guest bedroom, dropped to his belly.

“Almost out of ammo!” he shouted. “Get me some!”

Dominic checked his watch. Two minutes. He took stock. Almost two full mags for the Browning and six rounds left in the shotgun. He rolled left, then got to his feet and peeked around the corner. In the foyer, nothing moved. He took a step out, keeping behind the corner post. He checked once more, then spun and sprinted down the hall. Bullets peppered the wall behind him. He hunched over, covered the last eight feet, and ducked into Almasi’s master bedroom.

“Bro, where’s that damned ammo!” Dominic shouted.

He counted to ten, then stepped out, fired two blasts into the foyer, then closed the office door before stepping back into the bedroom. He slammed the door shut loud enough that it wouldn’t be missed. Once they made it up the stairs, they’d have to clear the guest bedrooms, then the office, leaving Almasi’s bedroom for last. The question was, how long would that take? How long before one of them went back outside to cut off the window exits?

He locked the door and pressed his ear to the wood. One minute passed, then two. From the foyer he heard