Apocalypsis 04 - Haven

Hello, Gail you sorry bitch. My name’s Fohi in case Gail didn’t think to warn you about me. I’m the munitions expert and armory manager all up in this hizouse. I just wanted to let you know that you are about to travel through a mine field, rigged by yours truly, not only in the front of the fence, but also …”
    There was a brief pause and some whispering before his voice came out over the horn again, but this time facing away from us.
    “… But also in the back and sides of our property. You see, the best part of a defense plan is one that is kept secret. And Gail, you were never in on my particular secrets, so canners … cannibals … you ugly motherfuckers who think eating people isn’t disgusting, wrong, and evil, better watch your step. Or not. I don’t mind if you blow your damn legs off in my traps. You’re just going to make me look good.”
    The forward movement of the group stopped. There was some arguing going on in their ranks, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
    Robson was looking at us and them. I could see she was weighing her options.
    “Oh, shit, she’s going to run for it,” I said.
    “You got the keys?” asked Ronald.
    “No, I don’t have the keys,” barked Jamal. “The point is to keep them out, not let them in!”
    “Robson, don’t!” I yelled. “We can’t open the gate!”
    She froze with one foot in our direction. The look on her face was a horror to see. She knew she was a goner.
    Winky came bursting out of the door.
    I could hear the jingling of the keys in her hand.
    Everything happened so fast, it was like my worst nightmare unfolding and I was stuck in mud, unable to react fast enough.
    A shot cracked out from the group of canners.
    Robson screamed, her body flying forward as she fell to her face.
    Blood spread out across her back, but she wasn’t dead. She crawled towards us.
    Several other kids were pushed out of the canner group. “Do the trade, Bryn!” yelled Gail.
    The four kids who were walking towards us now, Robson’s group obviously, were clinging together and crying, three girls and one guy.
    “Stay back!” I yelled to Winky. “Do not open this gate!”
    More shots were fired from the watchtower.
    Two more canners fell, screaming. One walked sideways, stumbling, trying to keep his balance.
    An explosion went off by his leg sending him and a blast back into the group of kids standing near Gail.
    Lightning struck the ground less than a mile away, setting fire to some distant brush. Thunder came right on its heels.
    More cracks of gunfire came from the back side of the compound and then the right.
    “They’re coming from all sides,” said Jamal, his shield trembling.
    We all screamed when a bullet smacked into Ronald’s shield.
    “Steady!” I yelled. “Keep the shields up and your heads down.” I put my gun in between my shield and Jamal’s.
    “Winky! Get back inside!”
    She turned and ran, her shield on the wrong side of her body.
    A shot rang out.
    Too late.
    I was too late to warn her.
    She fell when the bullet caught her leg.
    “Aahhhhh! Shit! I’m hit! Bryn, I’m hit!”
    The lobby door opened, and Peter came running out. He grabbed Winky’s shield and held it up in front of them both, letting her use his shoulder to get up on her knees. Together the two of them crawled into the lobby and shut the door behind them.
    Bullets hit the glass but didn’t shatter it; I couldn’t tell if they went through or not. I prayed my friends were okay inside.
    More explosions came from the back of the compound. The distant sounds of dogs barking came from the far side where I knew Paci had been.
    “What do we do?” asked Jamal. “Run or stay put?”
    “We stay.”
    I just needed the canners to get a little closer so I could take a few of them out. But the kids who were part of the treehouse group were huddled together and crying, and it was so distracting I couldn’t concentrate.
    “We have to get those kids in here,” I said. “Dammit!”
    The sound of a diesel engine came into range.
    “It’s a tank,” whispered Ronald. Then he yelled, as if he’d just heard his own words and their meaning had finally sunk in. “We’re doomed! It’s a tank!”
    “It’s not a tank,” I said. “But it’s not good news either. I think it’s a big truck.”
    I couldn’t see it, but I could hear the high pitched whine of its engine as it blew smoke out its stack. It was coming for us, no doubt about it.
    “No wonder they just