Ben had one more trick up his sleeve, and he needed the Hooligans to infiltrate the bank in order for it to work. He set to work right away on his final Hail Mary before making his escape out the back and rendezvousing with the others at the diner.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ben was kicking around a few ideas on how best to use the two remaining propane tanks. He also questioned if he should bother using them at all. This was, after all, an opportune time to make his getaway unnoticed, while the Patriot Hooligans were scrambling to recover from the recent blast. But after the power and destruction of the single tank, he’d made up his mind. How could he pass up the opportunity to inflict more damage? Besides, the more Hooligans he was able to eliminate here, the fewer he would have to deal with later. As the incoming bullets began to tear through the bank lobby once again, he stayed low and dragged the last two gas tanks to a small utility closet just off the main lobby.

  He wasn’t sure if this would work, either, but unlike the last bomb he’d made, he didn’t plan on sticking around to find out. Regardless, he would take the extra time to set it up the best he could. Any damage he could cause to the Patriot Hooligans or their morale was well worth the effort.

  Working quickly, he positioned the gas tanks at the back of the janitor’s closet and moved everything he could to the front. He found a pack of rags and tossed them outside the closet for use later. Once he’d taken as much time as he dared, moving the contents of the closet up near the door, he opened the valves on both tanks a little less than halfway. He listened for a second as the propane hissed; he could smell the gas accumulating in the small space already.

  Satisfied with the setup, Ben exited the closet and closed the door behind him. He used the cleaning rags to form a seal under the door, stuffing them into the gap at the bottom with his fingers. He grabbed the water bottle from his backpack and took a quick drink, careful to save enough to saturate the last rag so it wouldn’t catch on fire. As thirsty as he was, Ben fought the urge to down the entire contents; there would be time to drink later.

  Pulling the last flare from his bag, he studied it for a moment. The flares were rated to burn for fifteen minutes, and he did his best to calculate how far to stuff it under the door. Using the wet rag, he filled the remaining gap under the door except for a small hole just big enough to fit the flare.

  He paused and looked around the room, taking a mental inventory of his gear and making sure he wasn’t overlooking something. Once he lit the flare and wedged it into place, the fuse would be lit, and he would need to get out of here quickly. He thought about his idea once more to make sure it made sense before committing.

  If his plan worked, the heavier propane should fall to the floor of the sealed closet and, with nowhere to escape, build up inside. The waterproof flare would have no problem burning past the wet rag, where it would ignite the gas and blow the tanks. With any luck, the door and everything he’d piled up inside the closet would be projected outward, creating thousands of pieces of shrapnel. Ben was thinking something like a claymore on a timer instead of a trip wire.

  Just then, he heard shouting outside the bank. It sounded close, and the incoming fire had slowed to just the occasional shot. The Hooligans were preparing to enter the bank, as he’d expected; it had been a while since he’d returned fire. It was time to get moving. Ben pushed the unlit flare into the opening so just a couple of inches were sticking out on his side of the door, then packed the wet rag around the edges, making the seat as airtight as possible. He pulled the plastic cap from the flare, thinking how much it would suck if this didn’t work and he blew himself up. He was putting a lot of faith in the idea that the wet rag would prevent the gas from reaching the flame prematurely.

  This was it. He struck the cap against the ignitor button and backed away toward his escape route.

  Making his way to the backside of the teller station, he glanced back to make sure the flare was burning. So far, so good. He just hoped the explosion held off long enough for the Hooligans to gather inside the bank lobby. But that was out of his hands now, and it was time to concentrate on getting to the diner.

  It only took a few seconds for Ben to reach the back door. He crouched at the edge of the opening, scanning his surroundings before stepping outside. There was bound to be someone waiting nearby, ready to pick off anyone trying to escape. Sure enough, there were two gunmen in the alleyway. Fortunately, they were distracted, probably still confused about what was going on out front, thanks to the first explosion.

  The two Hooligans waiting for him presented a new problem, one he hadn’t considered before lighting the flare and starting the clock. If he opened fire and took out the gunmen, he would alert the rest of the gang to his backdoor escape. The remains of another building stood about ten feet away across the alley, and as Ben weighed his odds of making a run for it without being seen, one of the men held a radio up to his ear. The conversation was short, and the man placed the radio back onto his belt a few seconds later.

  “Jesse wants us to go in through the back door. He says they’re not coming out on their own, so be ready.” The man readied his weapon nervously as he informed his partner of their instructions to enter the bank.

  Ben backed up and took a position behind a tall file cabinet. He was trapped, at least for the time being. Maybe the two Hooligans would pass by without noticing him if he stayed put. Ben had a partial view of the door from behind the file cabinet, where it stood off from the wall a couple of inches. He waited impatiently, finger on the trigger. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he planned his exit from the bank. Maybe he’d made a mistake rigging the tanks to blow. He was supposed to be long gone by now.

  The man with the radio was the first to cross the threshold, slowly stepping inside with his sawed-off shotgun leading the way. His technique was terrible, and if he were alone, Ben would have rushed him, but there were two of them, both armed. He couldn’t take them on at the same time. Both looked very capable of putting up a formidable fight in hand-to-hand combat. Ben didn’t stand a chance. His best bet was to stay put. He still had the jump on them, and if he had to shoot them and make a run for it, he would. For now, he was content to bide his time and stay hidden as long as they didn’t take much longer to move past him.

  “I smell something burning,” the first man inside whispered to his friend.

  “No kidding. Did you not hear the explosion a little while ago? Just keep going,” the other guy scoffed.

  “I am, I am,” the first man argued back.

  Easy to be brave when you’re the last man in, Ben thought. The second guy crossed the threshold, and Ben eyed his wooden-stocked rifle; it was more suited to hunting deer in the woods than clearing a building. These two were obviously in over their heads, and for a split second, Ben seriously considered having a go at them right then and there, but he stayed put.

  He glanced down at his watch and saw that a little over ten minutes had passed since Joel and the others left to go and find Max. He was running out of time, but his biggest concern wasn’t making it to the diner on time; it was the ticking timebomb he’d created in the other room.

  The two Hooligans continued making their way deeper into the interior of the bank, and Ben was beginning to think he might actually be able to slip out unnoticed. Just then, the first man’s radio went off.

  “Where are you guys? We’re in the lobby. Over,” a static-laden and panicked voice asked.

  “We’re inside, headed your way. Over,” one of the men Ben was watching answered back.

  “They’ve got a flare going in here. I think they’re trying to use the smoke to hide. Getting ready to search the back offices. Over,” the voice crackled over the radio.

  “Come on. There’s nobody back here.” The man with the deer rifle reattached the radio to his belt and started for the door to the main lobby, impatiently pushing his way past his friend.

  Boom! Ben pulled away instinctively, burying his face in his arms and taking shelter behind the metal file cabinet. The force of the explosion caused a rush of air through the open door, creating a whistling sound that reminded Ben of a jet engine winding up. A wave of fire followed, clinging to the ceiling as it swept through the building, searching for a way out. The room was inundated with a bright crimson and black fireball. Dropping to the floor to avoid the flames and heat, Ben noticed the two Hooligans were already down; they’d been knocked off their feet by the initial force of the blast.

  Shouts and screams filled the air. Ben could only imagine the carnage that had consumed the lobby when the tanks ignited. He wasn’t sure how many of the gang had been inside when they blew, but he had no doubt there would be no survivors. The initial inferno that swept through the building had subsided, but countless pieces of furniture remained on fire.

  Of the two men in the room with Ben, the pushy one with the deer rifle who’d been anxious to get ahead of his friend lay motionless on the floor. The other man with the radio and sawed-off shotgun started to get up. His ball cap was smoldering and looked to be half melted onto his head. He pulled the hat off with a yelp and threw it to the floor while dancing around in pain.

  There was no point in hiding anymore. Ben stepped out from behind the file cabinet and put three rounds into the flailing man’s torso with the MP5. A few seconds later, Ben was outside in the alley, checking for any more Hooligans while he enjoyed a deep breath of semi-clean air. The fireball had all but depleted the room of any usable oxygen. There was shouting from the street out front, but he was surprised to hear gunshots. Were the Hooligans so confused that they were shooting at each other? He listened for a moment, realizing that what he was hearing was happening off in the distance somewhere. Ben’s thoughts instantly turned to Joel.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was a firefight going on somewhere close by. It had to be Joel and the others, unless the Hooligans were really that disoriented. While that wasn’t completely out of the question, Ben knew in his gut that Joel was in trouble. He needed to find them—now.

  Unable to head back the way they approached the bank earlier, Ben was forced to make his way through unfamiliar territory. Fortunately, there was a water tower still standing in the distance, and he was able to use that as a point of reference. He moved as fast as he could but restrained himself from taking off at a full sprint toward the action. Ben tried to channel his adrenaline into his senses while he continued slipping through the remains of New Haven at a smooth and steady pace. He was good at this type of combat. But that was why he’d only allowed for a fifteen-minute window to reach the diner.

  He was running tight schedule-wise, only because his CQB training was a little rusty and he was being conservative for Joel’s sake. After all, he wouldn’t be able to help his son if he got himself shot on the way there because he was careless. This was now a full-blown combat zone, and there could be Hooligans anywhere and everywhere; they’d figure out soon enough that the bank was empty except for the bodies of their own. He had to keep his head on a swivel. There were countless places to hide among the ruined and abandoned vehicles in the street.

  He couldn’t help but be a little disappointed in himself for not grabbing the radio from the guy with the sawed-off shotgun. At the time, he needed air more than the radio. The smell of burning flesh was something you never forgot. There was no point in beating himself up over it now; the opportunity had passed, and he wasn’t about to go back.

  After a minute or two of creeping through back alleys and along the edges of crumbled buildings, Ben found himself in familiar surroundings. This was the alley they’d snuck through after Vince sprung them from the walk-in cooler. He checked his watch again and saw that the agreed-upon fifteen minutes had passed. A part of him hoped Joel and the others had escaped town, but the gunshots told a different story.

  The fighting was louder now. He had to be close. The anticipation of what he would find was almost too much to bear, and it took all of his willpower to cover the last bit of distance slowly and with the caution this situation warranted. The last thing he wanted to do was burst out onto a street in the middle of a firefight. Another thing he had to consider was that the skirmish would draw the remaining Hooligans to investigate. He wouldn’t be the only one making his way toward the action.

  Ben crept along a wall to the end of the alley and scanned the area for activity. The diner was just across the street, and he could see movement inside. He watched as a gun barrel pushed through a broken window and fired a shot. Ben recognized the stout barrel on the Kel-Tec shotgun. It was Joel and the others. They were trapped inside, trading one predicament for another, only the diner was far less defensible than the bank. This was precisely why he’d instructed them not to wait too long for him. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to rendezvous at the place they’d been held captive, but not knowing any other landmarks in town limited their options.

  As he watched and thought about possible solutions, more shots were fired from the opposite side of the street, the side he was on. They were coming from a storefront about fifty yards down the sidewalk from Ben. He knew what he had to do. His best bet would be to flank the Hooligans that had Joel and the others pinned down. The row of shops looked to be connected all the way to where the gunfire was coming from.

  Crossing the alley, Ben made his way inside the first building through a blown-out window. Careful to avoid the jagged glass still stuck in the frame, he eased his way into the charred interior of the shop. It was impossible to tell what the place had once sold; the only recognizable things were a couple of blackened display cases. He picked his steps cautiously to avoid making too much noise, although he doubted his approach would be heard over the exchange of gunfire.

  Another concern was friendly fire. Joel, Ed, and Vince had no idea he was over here on this side of the street. Now he wished they’d brought the radios into town instead of leaving them at the RZRs. But it wasn’t the first time he’d regretted that decision since their arrival. Then again, it was never his intention to be separated from the others or taken captive by a bunch of wannabe soldiers.

  He continued deeper into the fire-ravaged building until he reached a dead end. The roof had caved in over this portion of the structure, leaving him no choice but to retrace his steps and look for another way through. Ben heard the unmistakable purr of a fully automatic weapon. He thought it was the other MP5, and judging by the length of the burst, Ed had just blown through at least half a magazine.

  Ben quickened his pace as he thought about the possibility of running out of ammunition before they’d even had a chance to head for the RZRs. He needed to figure out how to get to these guys and put an end to the standoff. Never mind the fact that there were surely more of the gang on the way. And here he was, wasting time climbing through this obstacle course of burnt timbers and collapsed cinderblock.

  He wasn’t making the progress he’d hoped. It might be better to go to the back alley that ran parallel to the street and try to gain access to the building the Hooligans were hiding in from the rear. That was a gamble; he wasn’t sure there was a back alley at all. He’d never been here before, and he was navigating blindly at this point. Ben thought about how far down the row of shops the gunmen were. He figured in order to reach the shooters’ location, he’d have to move down at least three or four storefronts.

  After a quick check outside confirmed there was no one else around and it was safe to exit the building, he reluctantly made his way back through the same broken window. He paused for a second to look over at the diner.

  If he could get Joel’s attention, maybe they could devise a plan of attack to deal with these guys, but how would he do that? And if he did manage to get Joel to look over at him, how would they communicate any sort of idea about how to deal with this situation?

  Ben wondered how much the drugs in his system from the tranquilizer were still affecting his judgment. He definitely wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet. It would have been nice to have a drink of water and more than just a few sips. Abandoning his idea of being able to communicate with Joel, he resolved himself to reach the shooters through any means necessary and did his best to ignore the burning sensation in his throat. Stay on track. Go get these guys.

  Ben was pleased to find a long alleyway behind the group of buildings and did his best to count off the doors and the divisions in the buildings. The majority of the rear wall was still standing, and he was grateful for the cover as he traversed the dumpster-lined back street.

  Ben couldn’t help but think of his shop back in Durango, not that there was much left of it. At least there hadn’t been when he and Joel gathered what supplies they could salvage. He imagined there was even less remaining now, if that was possible. He shook the thoughts from his mind. Staying focused was the only way he would get to his son safely.

  Ben listened as the volume of the gunshots intensified with every step he took closer to the rear door of the next shop. This was it; it had to be. He could hear faint voices through the smooth steel door, although he wasn’t able to make out what they were saying. He knew there were at least two gunmen inside. Beyond that, it was a guess at best. He’d be at a big disadvantage if he burst through the door blindly, not knowing where the defending hooligans were located or how many there were. He still had the element of surprise on his side, and although he was in a hurry, it would be worth his time to figure out a smart way to go about eliminating these Hooligans.

  He stepped back, examining a window on the second floor. The glass was missing, as it was with most of the windows he came across, but that didn’t solve the problem of reaching it. The dumpster he was using as cover might be the answer if he could move it without being heard. He swung the MP5 around to his back and put his shoulder against the rusty sheet metal. Waiting until the next gunshot went off, he gave it a shove to see if he could even budge the thing. The casters on all four corners appeared as worn out and decrepit as the rest of the dumpster.

 

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