Read Online Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2 by D W McAliley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: D W McAliley
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the house is still burning, they'll be focused on that," Joe began. "If it's pretty much out, there's no telling where they'll be looking. Whatever direction they're facing, we'll circle around wide to get behind them, and on my word come at them from behind. If any of them pulls a gun, you hold your fire until I say otherwise, got it? Once we cross into the upper pasture, no more talking until we get things secure or we're back in the lower pasture. I'll give you signals to let you know when to move."
Eric steeled himself with a deep breath, and Joe crossed the fence into the pasture. Eric felt an unexpected rush of adrenaline jolt through him as he set foot in the ankle-high grass. The cows were all crowded together about a third of the way up the gentle slope from the river. Several large heifers watched as Eric and Joe passed them, still over protective of their spring calves.
And maybe, if any of the old herd remained and saw him in the starlit shadows of night, they would recognize Eric when they hadn't in the light of day. More often than not, Eric and Brant had snuck into the lower pastures at night to try and tip a cow. They never did actually tip one over, but they did get chased by them on a regular basis. Once Eric had to jump in the river to get away from the herd at a full charge, and Brant had climbed halfway up a now-dead cedar tree that had been struck by lightening the next spring. To be on the safe side, Eric tried not to make eye contact with any of the cows as he passed.
These thoughts and a thousand other small flashes played across Eric's memory like a home video. His palms were growing sweaty, and his pulse was pounding in his ears. He tried to slow his breathing, but he couldn't. His body and mind teetered on that thin line between fight and flight, and it was all Eric could do to steer his mind to the task at hand.
At the fence that separated the upper and lower pastures, Joe stopped again. He looked at Eric, and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "You can feel it, I can tell. It's like when you went hunting the first time and drew down on a buck. There's that queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach and a tightness in your throat. Don't worry, son. That'll pass, I promise."
Joe said it so calmly as he spoke straight to the heart of all Eric was feeling. The reassurance helped snap him a little bit back to the moment. He gave his father a grateful look and nodded. Joe nodded back, reached into a pocket inside his tactical vest, and pulled out two pairs of dark sunglasses on neck cords. He handed one pair to Eric and hung the other around his own neck.
"When we get ready to go in," Joe said, "if we go in—and if it's bright enough—the last thing you do is put on the shades. They'll protect your night vision in case we have to make a rapid retreat. Get away from their lights and take your shades off. Your eyes will be instantly better off than theirs, and that gives you a slight advantage. Any leg up counts. Now, from here on out, you stay two steps behind me, two steps to the left. If the shooting starts, I don't want to hit you by accident."
Eric wondered if his father was joking, but before he could ask, Joe turned and moved off into the night at a low, fast crouch.
Eric hung the sunglasses around his neck and followed his father over the fence. As soon as his feet touched the deep green of the knee-high grass in the upper pasture, Eric's jittery nerves settled. He counted the steps between each breath in and each breath out, forcing his breathing and his heart beat into a rhythm the same way he had when he'd run cross country years ago.
Joe lead the way in a wide arc that took them far to the right and through almost half of the open pasture. The three young men were still facing the house, though the towering inferno had been reduced to the size of a small bonfire. The glow was bright in the distance, and Eric tried not to look at it after a few hand signals flashed from his father.
Eric steeled himself with a deep breath, and Joe crossed the fence into the pasture. Eric felt an unexpected rush of adrenaline jolt through him as he set foot in the ankle-high grass. The cows were all crowded together about a third of the way up the gentle slope from the river. Several large heifers watched as Eric and Joe passed them, still over protective of their spring calves.
And maybe, if any of the old herd remained and saw him in the starlit shadows of night, they would recognize Eric when they hadn't in the light of day. More often than not, Eric and Brant had snuck into the lower pastures at night to try and tip a cow. They never did actually tip one over, but they did get chased by them on a regular basis. Once Eric had to jump in the river to get away from the herd at a full charge, and Brant had climbed halfway up a now-dead cedar tree that had been struck by lightening the next spring. To be on the safe side, Eric tried not to make eye contact with any of the cows as he passed.
These thoughts and a thousand other small flashes played across Eric's memory like a home video. His palms were growing sweaty, and his pulse was pounding in his ears. He tried to slow his breathing, but he couldn't. His body and mind teetered on that thin line between fight and flight, and it was all Eric could do to steer his mind to the task at hand.
At the fence that separated the upper and lower pastures, Joe stopped again. He looked at Eric, and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "You can feel it, I can tell. It's like when you went hunting the first time and drew down on a buck. There's that queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach and a tightness in your throat. Don't worry, son. That'll pass, I promise."
Joe said it so calmly as he spoke straight to the heart of all Eric was feeling. The reassurance helped snap him a little bit back to the moment. He gave his father a grateful look and nodded. Joe nodded back, reached into a pocket inside his tactical vest, and pulled out two pairs of dark sunglasses on neck cords. He handed one pair to Eric and hung the other around his own neck.
"When we get ready to go in," Joe said, "if we go in—and if it's bright enough—the last thing you do is put on the shades. They'll protect your night vision in case we have to make a rapid retreat. Get away from their lights and take your shades off. Your eyes will be instantly better off than theirs, and that gives you a slight advantage. Any leg up counts. Now, from here on out, you stay two steps behind me, two steps to the left. If the shooting starts, I don't want to hit you by accident."
Eric wondered if his father was joking, but before he could ask, Joe turned and moved off into the night at a low, fast crouch.
Eric hung the sunglasses around his neck and followed his father over the fence. As soon as his feet touched the deep green of the knee-high grass in the upper pasture, Eric's jittery nerves settled. He counted the steps between each breath in and each breath out, forcing his breathing and his heart beat into a rhythm the same way he had when he'd run cross country years ago.
Joe lead the way in a wide arc that took them far to the right and through almost half of the open pasture. The three young men were still facing the house, though the towering inferno had been reduced to the size of a small bonfire. The glow was bright in the distance, and Eric tried not to look at it after a few hand signals flashed from his father.
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