Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [121]
And if Jack had to die to put a stop to it, well, he supposed he could be at peace with that.
But he was still scared, and he tried to channel that fright into making every shot count.
Up and down Main Street, similar skirmishes were going on as the resistance forces converged on the police station. A few minutes earlier, what looked like most of the invading force had gathered and started toward the smoke coming from the burning warehouse. Out in the open like that, they had made good targets for the citizens of Home who opened fire on them from alleys and rooftops. The resistance was still heavily outnumbered, though, and the invaders seemed to be intent on wiping them out. The wave of Rey del Sol killers was slowly sweeping up the street, killing the defenders as they came to them. Jack had seen half a dozen townspeople die already, riddled with bullets.
The same fate awaited him, probably within minutes. The invaders were closing in.
Rowdy let out an excited whoop. “Got another one!” he said.
“Keep your head down, kid,” Delgado warned. The cop fired another round. They all had the rifles on single fire now, since their ammunition was starting to run low.
One of the invaders tried to dash from one parked car to another. Jack was waiting for him and drilled him through the body. The man tumbled to the ground and flopped around like a fish out of water as he died.
That ought to bother me, Jack thought, but it doesn’t. They came in here ready to murder anybody who stood up to them. They were getting a lot hotter welcome than they had expected. Maybe later, the human lives he had taken would haunt him.
But he wasn’t going to have to worry about that, he told himself, because there was no way he was going to live through this.
Rowdy suddenly frowned and asked, “Hey, am I goin’ nuts, or do I hear a helicopter?”
As the fighting spread down Main Street, Ford, Parker, and Bud crouched behind the Dumpster they had used as an observation post earlier. Some of the invaders were still clustered around the two trucks parked in front of the police station, but most of them had hurried off down the street to check on that smoke and stayed to fight the resistance forces.
“We’re not gonna get a better chance than this,” Ford said. “I say we go.”
Parker nodded. “So do I. Ready, Bud?”
“Yeah, let’s do this,” the cameraman said, his voice shaking a little despite his unhesitating answer.
The three men burst out from cover and headed toward the trucks at a dead run. They wanted to cover as much ground as possible before the invaders saw them coming.
That lasted only a couple of seconds, but it was enough for them to close the gap to about fifty yards. Then several of the enemy whirled around and started to raise their guns.
Ford and Parker were in front. They opened fire, cutting down the invaders before the men could pull their triggers. The shots drew more attention, though.
“Split up!” Parker yelled. “Bud, go with Fargo!”
The two agents veered apart. Their rifles were still chattering death. From the corner of his eye, Ford saw Parker suddenly stumble. Parker didn’t go down, though. He stayed on his feet and kept firing, mowing down several more of the invaders before he finally lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.
Ford bit back an oath. He couldn’t worry about his friend now. He and Bud had almost reached their destination. One of the invaders appeared at the rear door of the truck where the jamming equipment was located. Ford’s rifle blasted at the same time as flame spewed from the muzzle of the