Neighbors by Jerry D. Young Read Free Book Online Page A

ask where they were from. She picked out something and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Hank picked up the PTR-91 and walked over to one of the basement windows facing the cul-de-sac entrance. He was none too soon. Though it hurt, he opened the window, lifted the PTR to his shoulder and fired off a round. One of the men trying to climb the gate fell back, screaming, though Hank couldn’t hear it.

Hank decided someone else was keeping an eye on the gate from where they were. Another person fell and the group at the gate broke and ran. Except for four. It was Bren, his wife, and two children. They walked up to the gate and waved.

Bernie came out of the bathroom wearing a jump suit and Hank turned to her. “I need to go let the last people in before I shower.”

“Oh, no you don’t!”

“Oh, yes, I do!” Hank said and headed for the basement stairs. Hank didn’t hear what Bernie said, but he suspected it wasn’t very nice.

There was suddenly a pistol in her hand, but she didn’t point it at Hank. Instead, she said, “Then let’s go and get back.” She led the way up the stairs.

Hank fumbled a magazine out of one of the pouches on the battle vest and into a pocket. He knew he couldn’t get the vest on again for a while. But with a full magazine in the PTR and one in his pocket, he decided he was okay.

Hank followed Bernie all the way to the gate. He looked around once and saw Pete wave from one of his basement windows. He had a view of the gate, too, just not as good at the one from Hank’s basement.

“The keys… My left pocket…” Hank couldn’t get the key ring out of his pocket.

Bernie reached in and pulled out the key and used it in the lock on the gate. She’d barely swung it open enough for Bren and his family to slip through when they were charged by some of the group hiding out of sight in the plantings along the wing walls. Bren and family, unlike Sara’s family, were bundled up in raincoats and hats to keep the fallout off their skin.

Hank lifted the PTR, but Bernie was much faster. She fired half a dozen rounds in few seconds and the small group dove back to their scant cover. With the gate locked again, and Bren and his family on the run toward the community shelter, Hank and Bernie began to go up the street backwards, keeping an eye on the gate. At least one person had shot at Bernie when she fired on the group.

But no one tried anything and Bernie and Hank went back into the house, then the basement. Without a word, Bernie fetched another garment from the trunk and went into the bathroom again.

When she came out a few minutes later, she had to help Hank get up and into the bathroom. She left him there. It was a long several minutes before he came back out, with a towel around his waist. Bernie had dry bandages ready and quickly replaced the water soaked ones.

Finally, she helped Hank into the shelter, and into a bunk. He was out like a light.

Hank came to several hours later and groaned when he shifted positions. He saw Bernie sitting at the small table in the kitchen area of the shelter, reading something.

Hearing the groan, Bernie looked over at the bunk and stood. “I want to check your wound,” she told Hank.

He nodded and managed to stand up on wobbly legs. Bernie turned around as the towel dropped to the floor. She heard Hank open the locker at the end of the bunk. A couple of minutes later Hank walked over to the table, wearing a pair of jeans.

“Wow,” Hank said. “Didn’t think a little wound like this would hammer me so bad.”

“One never knows,” replied Bernie. She peeled the tape and bandages from the entrance and exit wounds and cleaned the area again with alcohol pads. A few minutes later and fresh bandages were in place.

“You’re pretty good. And fast,” Hank said, getting to his feet again. He went over to the locker and took out a shirt. He put it on and buttoned it. “What have I missed?” he asked