No Ordinary Day by Tate, Harley (best large ereader .txt) 📕

soldiers or marines in Afghanistan couldn’t use the gear, some police force in small-town USA would buy it.

He rolled four body lengths away from the unconscious men, palms flat on the pavement. Voices filtered through the darkness and John squinted in the direction of the sound, his eyes more accustomed to the dark. Vague movement, no more than a blur. Bang, bang, bang. Three shots in quick succession. Military surplus rifle, confirmed.

John low crawled across the pavement toward the shots and rolled into the ditch lining the road. A huddled mass undulated no more than twenty-five feet ahead. John kept still, breathing in a slow, easy rhythm as he counted the men straight in front of him. Four, in total. They bobbed like pigeons, one rising up to spy over the edge of the ditch before popping back down and making room for someone else.

They thought he was still out there in the dark, hiding as they fired off another random shot into the dark. John stretched first one way and then the other, ridiculous grin spreading across his face. They didn’t anticipate a man like him. He rolled his shoulders and sucked in a lungful of air, finally feeling alive for the first time in days. This, he was good at. Eliminating threats, neutralizing the enemy, utilizing all of his skills. For good or worse, this is what he was meant to do.

At least there was no doubt as to the goodness of the character of the men before him. The orange jumpsuits made sure of that. John thought through his options. Killing would be too easy, and costly. Ammunition and weapons were precious commodities John refused to waste. No, he needed to do this the hard way.

Lucky for him, it was the way he’d enjoy the most. John crept forward, shotgun in one hand, other held out in front to prevent an accidental fall. Twenty feet, fifteen, ten. His foot crunched a twig and the man closest to him spun. John wasted no time, jumping like a sprinter on blocks as he charged the man. Lowering his shoulder, he slammed into the chubby prisoner just below the chest.

They fell to the ground in a heap. John brought his knee up swift and fast straight into the man’s groin. One down.

He climbed past him without hesitation as another man materialized out of the dark. John brought the shotgun up, gripping it in both hands as he swung for the man’s face. The butt of the gun smacked the man’s chin, sending his head flying back. As the man fell, a muzzle flash lit up the night. John dove to the ground, half-burying himself in wounded prisoners.

A hand tore across his scalp, searching for something to pull. Score one for the buzz cut. John elbowed the lump beside him, receiving a grunt of pain in return.

“Shoot him, would ya! Just shoot him!”

“I can’t see him! All I see is spots from when I fired the last time!”

John clambered over the man on the ground as another volley of fire flew over his head. He crashed into the prisoner with the rifle, sending them both to the weed-filled dirt.

The guy screamed like a little kid. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” He shoved the rifle at John, not to shoot, but to give it away. “Take it, man. Take it!”

John shoved himself upright and grabbed the rifle by the stock.

The prisoner on the ground scuttled backward like a crab. “Please!” He held up his hands, a pair of pale blobs against the darkness. “I don’t even know these guys, I swear.”

“Then why were you the one holding the gun?”

“I don’t know. Please! I got a kid out there.”

John ground his teeth together. Ordinarily, he’d put a bullet through the man’s head and be done with it. But ammo was precious, and the idiot had already wasted plenty. He motioned with the rifle. “Get out of here. You and anyone else who’s left. Otherwise, I’ll start shooting.”

The man scrambled upright and took off, orange jumpsuit fading into the dark.

“Anyone else?” John spun around as he offered the invitation. “Last chance. Going once, going twice…”

Footsteps sounded across the asphalt, receding into the distance. John exhaled and swung the rifle over his shoulder. He swept the ground with the shotgun, searching for any other weapons. The man he’d dropped in the ditch moaned. John ignored him.

As he canvassed the area, blood pumped through his veins like a transfusion of stardust and energy. He felt more alive, more connected to the world and it unnerved him. Maybe there was no going back. Maybe this was who he was meant to be. Not a killer, necessarily, but a fighter at a minimum. John shoved the thoughts aside, satisfied no more assailants planned to head his way. He crossed the road and rapped on the Explorer’s driver’s side window. After a moment, it buzzed down.

Raymond’s deep voice cut through the dark. “We heard gunfire.”

“Lucky for me, they were terrible shots.”

A snort of disgust came from the dark interior of the vehicle. “You killed them.”

John had half a mind to let Raymond believe the worst, but he shoved the instinct aside for Emma’s sake. “No, actually. Didn’t need to.”

Raymond leaned forward and John caught the wary expression on his face. “I don’t suppose you’ll be dropping those off with me.” He pointed at the guns in both hands.

John laughed. “You’re determined, I’ll give you that.” He glanced down at the shotgun and the rifle. “I’m sorry, Raymond, but we aren’t at your cabin anymore and I don’t need to accommodate your preferences.” But he held out the shotgun. “Here’s an act of goodwill. If you’re feeling randy, you can try to take me out while I’m sleeping. Watch the kick, it can be a doozy.”

Without a word, Raymond took the weapon.

“We need to drive on, find somewhere not far to change that tire.”

Gloria spoke up. “We’ll try to stay straight. Hopefully there’s a parking lot or something not