Escalation by Mark Edmonds

Author:Mark Edmonds [Edmonds, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781669880219
Publisher: Xlibris NZ
Published: 2023-01-24T05:00:00+00:00

Pushing the guy off me towards the container, I free the two-two-three and, standing up, take a quick look around the house. Sliding out of the gun locker, I roll out past the wardrobe, getting to see the whole house apart from the kitchen. No one in the reflection from the windows. A quick look confirms the house is empty.

Shit.

Retrieving Boyd from the container, I pour myself a Bushmills and take a breath. The first one for a few hours. No matter what, I can’t remain here, not in the foreseeable future anyway, so I guess it’s time for plan B.

While plan A was to hunker down and remain undetected whilst maintaining a sustainable, off-grid lifestyle, plan B requires a little more mobility. More of a Bushman hunter type of lifestyle.

I’m not a Bushman hunter. Rambo, I’m not. If they back me into a corner, I’ll do my best to wriggle out, but when it becomes them or me, I’m choosing me every time.

Time to do some wriggling.

Step 1: Pack for an extended excursion. I have ammo stashed all over the area as well as long-life foodstuffs, water, bedding, clothing, batteries, etc. My quad has a runaway bag permanently with all the basics, radios, binoculars, torches and assorted hand weapons. What I need to pack is my good kit. All the fresh and soon-to-spoil foodstuffs packed up but still in the fridge.

Step 2: Get rid of the bodies. A quick trip out to the back of the farm and that’s done.

Step 3: Make sure the container doesn’t get discovered. Replace the bottom flap. New plywood hatch, re-mount. Done.

Step 4: Age the house. Mouse shit in the cupboards. Nothing recent in the fridge. Bucket of dust on the floor and sweep it back and forth around the house a few times and everything gets a nice layer of ‘no-one’s-been-here-for-ages’ dust. Once the stuff floating in the air settles, the floor should look convincingly untrampled as well.

Leaving the door shut but not locked, I climb on the quad. I have my pack and some extra gear, along with a spare twenty litres of petrol and the last two full gas bottles, as well as my two-two-three, the thirty-sixteen and the shotgun. I know a few very obscure tracks up the back of the farm, and I should be able to stash the quad safely, leaving me with faster mobility if required. The gas bottles can stay with the quad, and I can decant the nine bottles into the two-kilogram bottles I will be using in the bush as they require refilling.

With Boyd thinking we’re off on another fun-filled excursion, we finally manage to evacuate the place just before dark.

We have no way of knowing what’s going to happen next. Are they going to go batshit and dump hundreds of foot sloggers in here? If they do, where? Which way will they search? Best-case scenario, they’ll assume the last tactical group was compromised by the other guys. Worst case, they know someone is here, and they’ll come in with a skilled tactical group, including dogs and satellite tech.

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