Chapter Eight - Battle Underground

I GRABBED MY SHOTGUN OFF THE DESK and dived for the floor. So did Bo. In a half-second, Bo and I both had our weapons trained on the door leading to the street. We waited a few moments, holding our breath. Fine beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.

From outside there came the crack of a gunshot, and another windowpane disintegrated. Then silence.

I waited for a few seconds, then slowly pulled myself up from a prone position to a kneeling position, my shotgun still aimed at the door. I listened. There came a faint sound of angry voices, the words unintelligible with distance.

They had automatic rifles and no telling how much ammo. We had a pistol and a shotgun. Bo had two full fast loaders for her thirty-eight, and I had five five-shell clips for the shotgun. It had seemed like a lot of firepower when we'd loaded it into the jeep. It didn't seem like nearly enough now. In the open, the rifles would be a huge advantage, but at close quarters inside the ruined hotel the automatic rifles wouldn't give them much of an edge, if any. But were those warning shots? Or were they meant to kill?

There came a burst of automatic fire and the sound of a tire blowing out, then another burst and a second blowout. So much for the jeep. Even if we could somehow manage to reach Sheba, she now had two flat tires and probably some damage to the engine. I cursed.

Again we heard a murmur of angry voices which terminated with a malicious laugh. Then a round of automatic fire blasted out whatever glass remained in the front windows.

I hit the floor again, lying as flat as I could, wishing I could pass through the solid wood like a ghost.

There came another hail of bullets, this time from the right side of the building, shattering the windows and puncturing the plaster walls of the hotel with a pok-pok-pok  sound. The first gunman opened up again, and a second or two later a third one began blasting away at the front door, sending shards of glass and splinters of wood flying though the air.

I lay on the dusty floor, the sweat flowing down my cheeks and forehead, my stomach knotted with fear.

The rifles continued pounding the hotel windows, chipping brick, splintering wood and shattering glass. Above it all, I heard an old fashioned rebel yell, and pictured some bearded good old boy in cammies grinning and howling as he fired from the hip.

Someone yelled an order. They stopped firing, all at the same time.

The silence that followed was as loud as a freight train collision. Hardly daring to breathe, I raised my head slightly and looked around. The walls across from each window were peppered with bullet holes and webbed by cracked plaster. Bits of plaster, shattered glass and splinters of wood lay in a carpet across the dusty floor.

"You all right?" I asked Bo in a loud whisper.

"Ain't hurtin'. Couple of small cuts from broken glass and scared as hell, but I'm okay. What about you?"

"About the same."

"What do we do?"

"We get down in the basement and call up the state patrol on the cell phone. Then we try to hold 'em off until the law gets here. You got that cell phone handy?"

"It's right there on the desk," Bo grinned. She leaped up quickly to grab the phone and dropped back down immediately. She didn't have the phone. Grimacing, she pointed to the cell phone lying on the floor almost on the other side of the room, a shattered plastic shell tangled in a mess of wires and broken electronic gizmos. A stray bullet had wrecked it.

"Oh, great!" Bo snapped. "Now what do we do?"

"We get down to the basement anyway."

"There's no way out of the basement. We'll be trapped down there. If the state patrol doesn't get here fast -- "

" -- we'll be done for," I finished for her. "The only other option I see is to shoot our way out. You want to bet on a pistol and a shotgun against who knows how many M-16's and maybe some grenades?"

Bo didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then came a barely audible: "Damn!" Bo still had a lot to learn about cussing. "Won't they just burn us out?"

"No, I don't think so. They figure the gold's somewhere in the hotel, and it'll be a lot harder to look for in a pile of ashes. And the smoke would attract attention."

"But the basement? All they have to do is toss a grenade down there. You want to bet me those guys don't have grenades? They seem to have pretty much everything else."

"There's a lot of iron junk down there. I don't think a grenade would be that effective. And there's the stone wall. It should hold against anti-personnel grenades. And they've got to get this over with fast. Sooner or later all this shooting is bound to get noticed. You want to stay up here and try to slug it out with them?"

No answer.

"All right, then. The basement. On the count of three, we rush the basement door. One, tw--"

From outside came a shout. "Nolan! Hey, Nolan!"

I fell silent. The voice sounded like Monroe's.

"Come on up to the front door, boy, we won't shoot," the voice called.

I hesitated, wondering what kind of trick this could be. At last I shouted back, "Waddaya want?"

"Just to talk. That's all. That little demonstration of firepower was just to get your attention. A bargaining ploy, you might say. I've got fifteen men and you wouldn't believe how many grenades out here. If we'd really wanted you dead, you'd be dead. We won't shoot."

"Like I really trust you!"

"It's nothing personal, man. It's just business. We figure we got a better right to that gold than anyone else. Look, we're gonna give you a chance to just walk out of here."

"And bring back the cops?"

"We'll be gone long before you can walk back to Adlersville. Come on. Take a look."

I stood up slowly and crept to the front doorway. The frosted glass in the upper half of the doors was completely gone now. Standing off to one side, shotgun at the ready, I kept behind the door frame and leaned forward just enough to get a clear view of the street in front of the hotel.

They had Goblin.

Monroe, Stupid Blondie and Goblin stood in the middle of the street next to Sheba with her two flat tires and several dozen bullet holes. Goblin's hands were tied behind his back, and Stupid Blondie stood behind him, one hand holding Goblin's head back by the hair, the other hand holding a knife to Goblin's throat.

Goblin looked like hell. His face was bruised and puffed, his eyes nearly swollen shut. He wore only his worn-out overalls, and someone had taken a belt or a whip to him, judging by the cuts and bruises that covered his shoulders and chest. Blood trickled from his nose. He gasped for breath through broken teeth and a gaping mouth with a split lip that dripped blood. He was barely conscious, and the look in his eyes belonged more to a crazed animal than to a human being.

Monroe grinned like he'd just done something really clever.

Sid was only partly right. Sure, greed makes people stupid. But sometimes it makes them crazy and mean as well, and Monroe had a crazy, mean look on his face right now. The look was so deranged it almost sent a shiver down my spine.

"He told us everything," Monroe called across the street. "And I do mean everything. We know exactly where that gold is hidden. It's in there. The basement. Secret chamber behind the north wall. Crazy bastard tried to lie to us. Said it wasn't there."

"He's telling the truth, Monroe. There's no gold here," I called back.

"Well, like I said, that's what ol' Goblin tried to tell me, too. You can see how much good it did him."

"I mean it. There really isn't any gold."

"Have I got a sign on me that says 'stupid'?"

"You don't believe me, send one of your men in here to look."

"And then you have a hostage. Nothin' doin'."

"You really gonna let us go?"

"Sure. You can even take ol' Goblin here with you."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just come on out, get Goblin, and start walkin'."

"We wouldn't get three steps without getting mowed down."

"So? All we have to do is get close enough to toss a couple of grenades through a window, and you and the girl are hamburger."

True. We couldn't stay in the hotel lobby for long. I stood behind the door frame, weighing options.

"I'd rather get through this without killing anybody." Monroe¹s face was a study in earnest good will and brotherhood.

You mean without killing anybody else, I thought. The image of Barry's bloody corpse lying on the kitchen floor flashed before my eyes.

I bit my lower lip and thought. We were outgunned. All they had to do was wear us down. On the other hand, they couldn't be certain what kind of firepower we had or whether or not we'd already contacted the law. Monroe would want to get it over with quickly. Every minute that passed lowered the odds that he could get the non-existent gold out of there and squirreled away in some secret cache of his own.

I got an idea.

"Okay," I called. "You got a deal."

"What!?!" Bo gasped incredulously.

Monroe's grin grew broader. "Now you're talking like a sensible man. C'mon down and get Goblin."

"Nothing doing," I shouted back. "Let Goblin come up here."

"Forget it!" hissed Bo. "Whatever you're thinking, they're not going to keep their part of the deal. The minute we stick our heads outside of the hotel, they're going to shoot."

Monroe's grin froze. "What did you say?"

"I said let Goblin come up here."

"Any particular reason for that?"

"I have my reasons."

"Boy, you think I'm stupid or something? Quit trying to jerk me around. You got a chance to walk out of here with a whole skin. Take it."

"What are you doing?" Bo snapped in an urgent whisper.

"I'm trying to get Goblin up here with us. Then we're going to fire a few shots to draw them in, and head down to the basement. At close quarters, the advantage is ours, particularly since we know the layout and they don't. They have to get this over with fast, and they know it. I figure if we kill or wound some of 'em and drag out the fight, they'll run for it sooner or later. Hopefully sooner."

Bo licked her lips, a doubtful look on her face. "Okay. But I hope you know what the hell you're doing."

I looked back out at Monroe.

"You heard me," I shouted. "Let Goblin come up here."

It was a mistake. Maybe Monroe guessed what I was up to. Maybe he was just plain crazy.

Instead of answering, Monroe looked up at me as astonished and angry as if I'd just spat in his face. His face twisted in an angry snarl. For a few moments he just stood there, looking crazier and meaner with every passing second. Then he snarled some command at Stupid Blondie.

Stupid Blondie pulled the knife across Goblin's throat. Then he let Goblin go.

Goblin dropped to his knees. A flood of red fluid poured down his bare chest and overalls. He coughed, sending a spray of blood into the air, then fell forward, spasmed two or three times, and finally lay still.

My mouth dropped open in wild anger and revulsion.

Without thinking, I brought up my shotgun and fired.

Stupid Blondie just barely jumped out of the way in time. The shot smashed into the door of the building across the street and blew it off its hinges.

Monroe stood motionless in the street as if in a trance.

I fired again. And again. I was wild with rage and my aim was bad.

Automatic rifles opened up on the hotel.

Monroe snapped out of his trance and dived behind Sheba.

I fired again. Bullets slapped the wall around me and shattered glass in the windows.

A hand grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"Come on!" Bo shouted hoarsely, more or less dragging me back towards the registration desk.

We scrambled behind the desk and hit the floor. A storm of small arms fire poured into the hotel. Dozens and dozens of bullet holes appeared in the walls as if by magic.

I was still gripped with murderous fury. I leaped up and fired the last two shells in my clip out the front door as bullets rained around me. Bo grabbed my shoulders and dragged me back down.

"Jackass!" she screeched. "Get down to the basement! Now!"

I stared dully at her for a second before I came to my senses, then began crawling as fast as I could on hands and knees to the basement door. Bo followed, emitting a string of curses that would have made a sailor proud. I was wrong. Bo did know something about cussing after all.

Inside the stairwell's upper doorway, we stood and scrambled down the stairs as fast as our legs would carry us.

Behind us an explosion blasted smoke, flame and debris through the doorway. Wood, glass and plaster showered down on us as we bolted through the stairwell's lower door into the basement.

Bo and I stood with our backs to the wall on either side of the door, breathing heavily.

The gunfire stopped.

Next episode (Conclusion): Underground Blast