Read Online No Flesh Shall Be Spared by Thom Carnell - Free Book Online

empty barn.
    "Nothing up here, Sarge. I did find somebody’s stash of old Playboys though." There was a long pause and then, "Hellooooooo, Miss October."
    "Ok, fine. Leave the stroke books and get back down here. We’ll take fifteen to rest and finish reloading before we head off for the next farm."
    Slider rejoined the men after a couple of minutes and the group soon fell into a congenial conversation.
    "Look," Ray Dog said to Slider. "I ain’t sayin’ shit ’bout the effectiveness of your goddamn shotgun, you simple Jersey Fuck. I’m only sayin’ you shouldn’t be steppin’ up and standin’ in front of my ’60."
    "Will youse all listen to this fuckin’ mulignane?"
    "Careful with that mulignane shit, Cuz, or I’m gonna have to hang my size fifteens in your lily white ass."
    The team laughed, having been longtime by-standers to this ongoing debate. Ray Dog was always complaining about having to check his fire because Slider would step into his firing line time and time again. He said Slider did it to take credit for his kills. Slider’s position was that The Dog thought of his weapon in the same way that he thought of his dick—big, black and mighty deadly. He felt he needed to show a little of what a white boy could do to help him out.
    The dispute had been going on for as long as they’d been on the patrol.
    As the two men argued and the rest of the squad listened amusedly, a small almost invisible door moved slightly on its hinges in the shadows at the back of the barn. It wasn’t anything anyone would have noticed unless they’d been looking right at it, but it did indeed move.
    "Listen, White Bread, all I’m sayin’ is that if you ain’t careful, you’re going to get the smoking end of this bitch straight in the ass."
    Again, the door shifted. This time though, it came off the door frame and opened slightly. Over the din of the men’s conversation, no one noticed or heard a thing.
    Except Masterson.
    The squad leader cleared his throat suddenly, and made a circular motion with his finger that told the men to continue talking. The men immediately raised their weapons and looked around in response. Masterson raised a finger and pointed into the shadows at the back of the barn.
    "Shit, man, you know my ass is exit only," said Slider, continuing the ruse, as they all caught on to what was going down.
    The small door continued to slowly swing open and deep in the shadows four dirty fingers slowly slid into view. As one, the team snapped their weapons to a firing position and waited for Masterson to give the go-ahead.
    An older man slowly stepped out from behind the door. His face was smudged with dirt and sweat, his clothes matted with a dark oily substance. His expression was tired and his skin sallow. His cheekbones jutted out and gave him the appearance of someone who hadn’t eaten in days, maybe weeks. He looked like something out of Auschwitz as he raised his eyes to meet Masterson’s and slowly opened his mouth, yellow teeth flashing in the half-light.
    Just as Masterson gave the signal to fire, Lance saw that the man’s pupils were clear and unclouded by Death.
    "Dumb fucks," shouted Masterson. "Smoke ’em!"
    Before Lance could say anything, the other five men opened fire. Bullets tore their way through the old guy and splintered the wood of the wall and door. Huge holes opened up in the wall, which only made the other rounds’ passage to whatever lay beyond all that much easier. The Mossberg blew pizza pan-sized craters in the wall while the M-60, the SAW, and the smaller rifles threw up a hailstorm of metal. The sound inside the enclosed barn was deafening and as the MP-5 and the Bushmaster all fell on empty, the team heard Lance shouting.
    "Wait! Wait! Wait!" he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "Ohhh, you stupid motherfuckers! You stupid, stupid motherfuckers!"
    The men all looked around, dumbfounded.
    "He wasn’t fucking dead, man!" Lance cried out. "He wasn’t fucking