Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(19)

Behind them, no one exited the second vehicle. Liam scanned the Humvee’s windows through his scope. Four figures with weapons drawn.

Trepidation torqued through him. He loathed aiming at fellow American soldiers. It went against everything he believed in, everything he was.

And yet, for his friends, for his town—he’d do anything.

The first guardsman appeared to be the ranking officer. He strode forward with far too much swagger and spoke first. “Stand down! This town is under state jurisdiction due to suspicion of harboring domestic terrorists.”

The soldier’s uniform revealed the telltale bulge of body armor. Liam zeroed in his weapon on his skull.

“My name is Jose Reynoso, and I am the acting Fall Creek Police Chief,” Reynoso said loud and slow. “There are no domestic terrorists here.”

The female soldier scanned the buildings on either side of them. Liam remained still in the shadows, the barrel of his carbine well inside the window frame. With the makeshift sniper netting, she wouldn’t be able to detect him.

Liam’s M4 seemed like a child’s toy compared to the 50-caliber beast mounted to the lead Humvee’s turret, which was aimed at the barricade—and the townspeople crouched behind it.

The 84-pound M2 Browning machine gun featured a rate of fire of 450-600 rounds per minute, a maximum effective range of 2,000 yards, and a velocity of almost 3000 feet per second. The Ma Deuce could shred a building with its 5.5-inch-long rounds.

He shifted his scope to the vehicles, searching for weaknesses. The frag grenades wouldn’t damage the first vehicle, which was up-armored, but the second one wasn’t armored.

The HMMWV, or Humvee, was designed primarily for personnel and light cargo transport behind the front lines, not as a fighting vehicle.

Pencil-mustache didn’t take his eyes off Reynoso. “Our records show Briggs is the police chief.”

“He’s dead,” Reynoso said flatly. “If you have a record of the police officers, you’ll see my name. And Officer Hayes and our now full-time officer, Samantha Perez.”

“This town is under our jurisdiction under suspicion of harboring domestic terrorists,” Mustache repeated. “Stand down and let us through.”

“I cannot do that,” Reynoso said. “If you have anything to discuss, we can do it outside town limits. We will even send a delegation to the governor’s office in Lansing to explain our case. But here and now, we do not yield.”

Gun up, Mustache took several lunging steps, closing the distance between himself and the police chief.

Liam’s jaw clenched. Cold sweat beaded his forehead. If he neared Reynoso, Liam couldn’t intervene if things went pear-shaped.

He needed the soldiers to remain where they were.

Liam adjusted his aim, applied pressure to the trigger, and squeezed. The loud crack shattered the air.

Chunks of asphalt exploded five feet in front of Mustache. He leapt back with a curse.

Taking his cue from Liam, Bishop fired his own warning shot. Boom! A second round splintered the road several feet from the female guardsman.

Shouted curses erupted from the second Humvee as soldiers ducked for cover.

The woman backed against the first Humvee’s door. Her wild gaze swept the barricade—the concrete barriers, the dirt-filled barrels stacked in rows with strategic gun ports, muzzles glinting in the sunlight.

Her weapon wobbled back and forth, seeking the threat but unable to find it.

Mustache aimed his M4 at Reynoso’s head. He shook with rage, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. Yet. “Tell your men to stand down or we’ll fire!”

Sweat dribbled down Liam’s forehead and leaked into his left eyebrow. He didn’t blink but remained focused.

He adjusted the scope and placed the target’s forehead in his sights. The next shot wouldn’t bust up asphalt.

Stay calm. Everyone just needed to calm the hell down.

“That was a warning shot,” Reynoso said. “We have no desire to fight, but we won’t be trampled over, either.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t blow your head off!” Mustache growled.

“If you had, my snipers would’ve taken you and your men out—before you’d fired up that Ma Deuce. Say what you need to say and leave.”

“Fall Creek is under the control of General Sinclair by state mandate from Governor Duffield. If you refuse to admit us, that’s tantamount to treason. Consequences will be dire. Let us in!”

Reynoso winced but did not back down. They faced each other, not twenty yards apart. Reynoso with no less than four rifles aimed at his chest. The .50 cal locked and loaded, ready to unleash death and destruction.

Fall Creek aimed dozens of weapons at the guardsmen—some they could see, most they couldn’t.

Tension stretched taut, about to snap.

“Hastings,” the female guardsman hissed.

“I will fire!” Mustache—or Hastings—shouted. His hands shook. His eyes still had that hard nervous look, agitated and edgy, the kind of guy who reacted on a hair’s trigger. Things were about to go sideways fast.

“If you fire, so will our snipers,” Reynoso said. “You can’t see them, but they can see you. Are you sure you want to open fire on American citizens? Are you certain you’ll make it out of here? Because you may have enough firepower to overpower us, but I can guarantee that you three won’t be leaving here alive.”