Walking in the Rain: Surviving the Fall by William Allen Read Free Book Online

The urge was there to use my knees, but I knew that doing so would lift my rear in the air, exposing not only my backpack but my rear to scrutiny.  This was something my father taught me, a skill he’d learned in training and used in wartime.  I hoped I was doing it correctly, but I feared a bullet would let me know if I failed.
    Once we gained the dubious cover of the bushes, which were on a slight rise, I could finally understand what I was hearing.  Raising my binoculars cautiously, I made out the drama unfolding just a few hundred yards away.
    The house looked rundown and uninviting; a brick faced ranch style lacking even the hint of a porch or any decorative touches in front.  Just a front door, wooden and sun faded, flanked by a pair of windows, and cement steps leading up from the graveled driveway.  Out front, I could just make out three men hunkered down, rifles in hand, crouched behind a rusty old King Cab pickup.  From my position, offset to the left, I watched the men take turns leaning out from behind cover of the truck to take shots at the house.  Whoever was in the house did not waste shots returning fire, but with my binoculars I thought I saw a rifle barrel through one of the windows.
      They did not seem to be in a hurry, and I wondered at their plan.  Either the three would try to wait out the people in the house, keeping the house under siege, or they had others in their party working their way around to flank the defenders.  Or something else entirely was going on, and I couldn’t see it from my vantage point.
    Whatever the case, none of this was any of my business.  Glancing over at Amy, I shook my head and eased back from the vantage point, slow and easy.  No need to attract attention with quick movements, and this was something Amy and I could just crawl away from and get back on track.  Bad things were going to happen at that house, and I felt sympathy for whoever might be trapped inside, but none of it was my doing or responsibility.  Heck, maybe that was the local militia and the people trapped inside might be outlaws, I tried to tell myself. 
    I would not risk Amy’s life, or my own, for that of a stranger.  I hated to make the call but I was outnumbered here, and outgunned.  I couldn’t exactly see what they were using, but it sounded a heck of a lot more powerful than a lever action rifle shooting pistol rounds.        
    Then the baby started crying.  The sound was faint across the distance, but I could tell it was coming from inside the besieged house.  I felt a small hand latch on to my pants leg.
    “We have to help them.”  It was a statement, not a question.  Her voice came out in a hiss, nearly vibrating with tension.
    “There’s too many.”  I replied.  “Plus, they have real rifles, not like that little popgun.  We don’t even know what’s going on, and I just can’t risk it.”
    “I’ll help, Luke.  You know I can shoot.”  Amy pleaded.
    I shook my head, glancing back at her face, now red with exertion and tension.  Maybe anger as well.  She had come a long way in just a short time from the frightened little girl I first met in that terrible bedroom.
    “Amy, honey, I know you might want to help. And if we could do something, we would.  We don’t have anything with the range here to make a difference.  Neither that rifle nor this shotgun has the range to take them on without just getting too close to them.  You can take pot shots all day with that pistol, but you might as well be shooting straight up for all the good…”
    That stopped me in midsentence as an idea suddenly came to mind.  Maybe we could do something to even the odds, and Amy could do her part to help, if she was willing. 
    I quickly sketched out the framework of a plan and of course the girl agreed to do her part.  Now I just needed to make this scheme work without getting us both killed.
    As I crept back with Amy in tow, I saw where I could place Amy, and a trail