Average Joe Read online

  AVERAGE JOE

  BY

  R.D. SHERRILL

  © 2014 Duane Sherrill

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  First Edition – May 2014

  Cover design Copyright © 2014 Seth Wright

  Editing by Linda Bernhardt, Allison Long Marts and Seth Wright

  The following is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent any real persons or events.

  For inquiries concerning rights or to find out more about R.D. Sherrill’s books go to:

  http://www.facebook.com/RdSherrill

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  DEAL THE CARDS

  MEET THE FIVE

  CRIMINAL INTENT

  HOLLY JOLLY CHRISTMAS

  LIGHTS OUT

  LIST OF DEMANDS

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS

  WRONG SIDE OF THE TRACKS

  WHAT COMES AROUND

  A WOMAN’S SCORN

  SHALL WE GATHER AT THE RIVER

  VIEW TO A KILL

  MIDNIGHT SHOWDOWN

  FROM THE BACKSEAT

  FISH IN A BARREL

  MAKE ME LAUGH

  I SHALL RETURN

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Joe hit the ground, taking cover behind a log as bullets whizzed over his head, a couple of near misses tearing chunks out of the hillside behind him. He lay still in the darkness for a moment, catching his breath as he considered his next move. He could already feel the needles stabbing his hands from the freezing water. The sound of gunshots pierced the night like claps of thunder from the other side of the river. Timidly lifting his head from behind his sparse cover, Joe could see fire spewing from the facing hillside, lighting it up like a Christmas tree.

  Joe watched the muzzle flashes, wondering if they were still gunning for him. However, to his relief, their aim seemed to be trained midway up the bank just behind him. Should the focus of their fire come to bear down on his location he would not be long for the world. With little cover and no means of defending himself, he wouldn't stand a chance.

  An instant later there came return fire from his side of the bank. The automatic weapons rattled off rounds in rapid succession maybe a hundred feet to his left. He tried to focus his eyes, shaking off the cobwebs. His head was pounding. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected he had lost consciousness for an instant before waking up in the midst of the fire fight. The taste of salt in his mouth told him it was blood spilling from his broken nose.

  Finally adjusting his eyes to the dim light as he watched the gun battle from his sparse cover, a horror hit him. It chilled him even more than the bitterly cold night. The light was limited as the moon danced in and out of the rapidly moving clouds giving only brief peeks of the surroundings. However, in the dimness of the night he realized, much to his horror, that it was not a log he had taken cover behind. The silhouette fooled him as he dove for any protection from the barrage of bullets. What he first thought was a log was actually the form of a man - a dead man - lying half-in, half-out of the water. His body was already frozen solid, feeling like a piece of petrified wood to the touch. Regardless, he wasn’t about to abandon his only form of cover without a plan of action.

  Joe knew he was in the middle of the crossfire in this showdown and, to beat it all, he was on the wrong side of the riverbank. He had no way to ferry the nearly hundred yards across the icy river to where the good guys were. Diving into the deadly cold water of the Barren Fork would likely paralyze him in no time, plunging him into hypothermia and likely sending him to a quick death before he even got a third of the way across. And, even if he could somehow cross the river, which he realized was impossible, he would likely be mistaken for one of the bad guys and shot on sight. He imagined the well-armed force on the other bank would gun him down before he could cry out "Don't shoot! I'm one of the good guys!"

  Joe's options were limited. He could stay on the bank and eventually be found and eliminated by the bad guys on his side of the river or he could try to crawl up the fifty-foot embankment and be back-lit by the white coating of snow. That would make him fair game for snipers on the other side of the river. Neither choice was very good, but, given the situation, door number two seemed to be the best bet. He wasn't keen on joining the "log" he had hidden behind in an icy death.

  Making up his mind to go, Joe felt around on the frozen carcass in front of him. He was the only unarmed one in the raging shootout. He reached his numbing hand around the lifeless torso. The dead man was wearing body armor. The Kevlar was obvious to the touch as Joe’s hands searched around in the darkness.

  "It must have been a head shot," Joe thought to himself. He imagined the man's head splattered on the snow, a crimson stain all over the white powder hidden from him only by the night. Darkness was truly a blessing in this case since such a spectacle would have likely left him unable to move because of fear. Joe was not a big fan of blood, even if it wasn’t his own.

  "There," Joe said to himself as he felt the cold steel of a pistol still held in a shoulder holster under the dead man's arm.

  He, like the rest of the bad guys, had likely been carrying an automatic rifle when they hit the river’s edge and the gun battle began. The rifle was nowhere in sight, likely dropped into the frigid water when he was gunned down. Joe wasn’t about to wade out into the deadly depths in search of it. The sidearm would have to do. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to use it.

  Joe gave the pistol a hard tug. The holster released the gun into his shivering hands. He drew the weapon to him, slipping it into the back of his waistband. He hoped it wouldn't go off during his attempt to escape the fire fight and shoot him in his backside.

  Waiting for a volley of fire from his side of the river, which would certainly focus a return volley just down river from the opposing force, Joe summoned his courage. He would use the exchange of fire as a diversion to hopefully cover his ascent of the hill. He held his breath and anxiously waited.

  Then came the volley. He pushed himself off the frozen ground. His legs were numb and barely able to support his weight, causing him to stagger as he made his dash away from the gunfire.

  He hit the hillside full speed, clawing the snow with his frozen hands. He grasped at limbs and stumps, anything that could help him on his furious climb.

  Joe could almost feel the sniper’s night scope beading down on him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up in anticipation of the kill shot which he hoped would strike him clean in the back of the head, simply turning out his lights. Of course, in his mind, it would be his luck it'd take four or five shots before he would be left on the hillside to bleed out.

  Joe flailed wildly as he clawed his way up the bank. It took only a few seconds for him to polish off the first half of his climb for life. The fact he hadn't been filled with holes encouraged him. Maybe they would stay busy with the others. Perhaps no one had seen him launch himself at the hill. Just a quarter of the way to go, he could almost taste it. That's when he was spotted, by which side he was unsure. Either way, snow and dirt began blowing up all around him, the shooter obviously trying to sight him in, his silhouette sticking out on the snow like he was in a spotlight. One bullet whizzed by close enough that he could feel the wind off the round. He resisted the temptation to flatten himself against the snow bank. He pressed on.

  "Do or die," he told himself, knowing even a brief pause would likely mean an easy shot, turning him into a regular bull�
�s eye.

  Joe reached out for the lip of the hilltop like a sprinter lunging for the finish tape. He grabbed the crest and pulled himself over. A bullet missed him by inches as it hit the top of the bank and buried itself beneath the snow and mud. Joe realized that could have easily been his head.

  He flattened himself face down against the ground, gasping for breath as the bitterly cold air left his lungs screaming. Each gulp of the cold air ripped through his lungs like shards of glass. The shooting continued on the bank. The shooter who had taken aim at him moments before had now focused his fire further down the bank after losing sight of him once he reached the top of the hill. The return fire from his side had slowed. Either the gunmen on his side of the river were losing or worse, they were coming up the river bank behind him.

  Still struggling to fill his lungs, Joe began crawling through the snow, pulling himself along inch by inch on his belly like a snake. The snow filled his clothes, chilling him to the bone as he slithered through the fresh powder. He raised his head and saw the tree line just a few feet ahead - a tree line that would give cover but at the same time could hide one of the gunmen. He was still on the wrong side of the river. He had no idea how many armed men there were or where they may be hiding. He could be surrounded by the bad guys for all he knew.

  Joe began crawling on his knees. He fought the urge to panic, scampering faster and faster until he reached the trees. He quickly stood up after reaching the cover and flattened himself against one of the tall pines, listening for the gunfire which continued sporadically behind him.

  The moon, which had just peeked out again from behind the snow clouds, gave him a glimpse of the landscape around him. He saw no movement. That gave him the resolve to push further into the forest and leave the gun battle behind him. He ran from tree to tree, like a half-frozen ninja, slamming hard into a couple of trunks as he made his way through the woods. He was able to make out a clearing in the distance. He could no longer hear shooting behind him. Either he had gotten out of earshot or the battle had ceased. If it was the latter, which side had won? If it was the wrong side that won then he was trapped behind enemy lines.

  Joe reached the clearing and made his way across the smooth white snow. The West Bridge was visible in the distance. The landmark gave him bearings for the first time. In the forest, one tree looked like the next. He now knew he was on the extreme west side of town. If he could make the bridge, he could get away and make it to freedom. He could cross the bridge on foot and surrender himself to the people on the other side. He would be safe. But then, what of Brittany? His freedom was in sight but if he chose to save himself would it mean doom for her?

  His choice was made as he approached the car he had just been in before being plunged into the darkness and smack in the middle of a pitched gun battle. Two sets of footprints led away from the vehicle in the otherwise pristine snow. He would go against every fiber in his being, forsake his chance for safety and play the hero. Joe was no hero. He didn't even like superhero movies.

  "Being a hero usually just gets you killed," Joe muttered, knowing he was going against his own philosophy as he began following the tracks as they led across the clearing back toward town. “How many times can a guy be a hero in one night?"

  He tried to tell himself the tracks were left by someone trying to flee the besieged town and that he was about to embark on a wild goose chase. However, Joe knew better since the tracks were heading back into town. He knew he was on their trail as he pulled out the gun he had taken from the dead man at the river. He chambered a round and took a deep breath. The fear sat like a lump in the pit of his stomach.

  Joe had never killed a man. He hadn't even thought about it before. He was the easy-going type, letting stuff roll off his back. Sure, he had killed a few deer over the years, something he thought he would have been doing this week until the event happened, something that would forever change his life. But now he wasn't hunting deer, he was hunting a man. What would he do when he found them? Would he be able to pull the trigger or would he freeze?

  Speaking of freezing, Joe knew he would have one pass at finding them before having to seek warmth somewhere. Between the excitement of escaping the gun battle with his life and the cold of the evening, his teeth were starting to chatter uncontrollably. Joe knew it was a sign of hypothermia. There was a good chance he wouldn't even get the benefit of being gunned down in a blaze of glory. He might just end up drifting off and not be found until the spring thaw, what was left of him, at least, once the wildlife got through with his carcass.

  Joe froze, figuratively, in his tracks as he saw movement a few hundred yards ahead of him. The moon came out from behind the clouds just in time to expose two figures in front of him. One of them, he was sure, was Brittany. Well, at least he thought he was sure. It was dark and quite a distance to make a positive identification in the spotty moonlight. He quickened his pace, forgetting the chill as he scurried back into the tree line. He trailed the figures undetected, dashing through the snow to make up ground.

  He would have to catch them before they got to the town proper or he would lose the element of surprise and perhaps find himself facing down more bad guys. Making a move in the clearing was the only chance he had and he knew it. He was obviously dealing with a professional gunman - a killer - so a one-on-one shootout would not fare well for him or Brittany. The man he was tracking had killed in cold blood that evening before Joe’s very eyes.

  Closer and closer he crept, his footfalls muffled by the snow. The figures he was shadowing likely didn't realize they were being tailed. Joe flattened himself out in the snow for a moment as his prey paused, the figure of a man looking back toward his direction to see if anyone was in pursuit. The pair then resumed their brisk walk. Joe jumped back up to cover more ground behind them. He had cut their lead to about fifty yards when he started formulating the plan in his mind. After all, he couldn't just come running up with guns blazing since, first, he might accidentally hit Brittany and second, and most likely, he might miss everything and get shot in the face himself.

  Perhaps he could run up behind them and get the drop on the gunman, maybe put his gun to the man’s head and make him hand over his gun. But what if he didn't drop his gun? What if he had his gun trained on Brittany and there was a Mexican stand off? Or worse, what if he panicked and shot Brittany? Or, what if he whirled and opened fire on him and the gun Joe "borrowed" from the dead man jammed? Or, what if it wasn’t actually Brittany with him? What if it were another armed thug? In the dark he couldn’t make her form out with any certainty. He was working on assumption. There were too many possibilities. Regardless, he had to act quickly since there was no way to just to run up behind them once they were on the open snow-covered street.

  Running the scenarios through his mind as he continued closing ground, Joe settled on the old quarterback-sack routine. He had played free safety back in high school and had often come on a safety blitz, hitting the quarterback from the blind side. Joe believed if he timed it right he could knock Brittany out of the way while also toppling the gunman to the ground. The snow would serve to muffle his footsteps, still providing him the element of surprise. And, if he was lucky, the armed man would lose his gun in the snow. That is, if he was lucky. Joe feared he may have already used up his luck for the evening.

  Gathering every ounce of courage inside him, Joe prepared for the quarterback blitz. Once he took off running in the deep snow there was no turning back. He would be committed for better or worse. There was no room for error. This was truly going to be a Hail Mary as he often called it during football games.

  With a silent prayer, Joe sprang into motion, taking off through the snow like a shot, gaining speed as he reached the shadowy figures, gun flailing in one hand. Lowering his shoulders, Joe crossed the last ten yards in no time. The pair didn't hear his approach until just before impact.

  They turned but reacted too late. Joe slammed the pair full steam. The smaller figure flew clear, flipping
over in the snow. The gunman fell forward, landing face down in the powder. Much to Joe's delight, his gun went flying a few feet away from him.

  "Freeze," Joe yelled breathlessly, not really knowing what to say since he hadn't planned out anything after the safety blitz.

  Joe kept his gun trained on the prone man. He might have another weapon on him. The man, face down in the snow, pushed himself up from the ground and began to move toward his rifle.

  Holding the gun on the man, Joe glanced behind him, hearing movement in the snow. Joe pulled back the hammer on his gun to make sure the man knew he meant business. The sound caught his quarry’s attention as he ceased his movement toward the rifle. However, instead of being contrite to his capture, the man rolled over to his pursuer. Joe couldn't believe his eyes.

  "What the ... " Joe began.

  His words were stopped by the sound of a gun hammer being cocked just behind his ear.

  So much for his plan. He should have left Centertown when he had the chance. This was no way to spend Christmas Eve.

  DEAL THE CARDS

  The people of Centertown lived on an island and they didn't even realize it. Going and coming every day to the county seat, they were oblivious to the fact they had to cross one of four bridges to enter and leave Centertown proper. Technically, Centertown was not a town at all. It was an incorporated city of about nine thousand souls.

  It was settled in 1809 by traders who used the Barren Fork River as their water route to carry supplies to trapping settlements to the west. The town sprang up as a halfway point between the suppliers and the trapping fields, thus the name Centertown since it was in the center between the supply and the demand.

  The town center sat on a ten square mile hill, the river splitting around the land to the east before joining itself again to the west. The river silently encircled the inner city with its banks concealed by woods. The meandering river was almost out of sight and out of mind except for Riverfront Park. That was the town's little port on the river. That is, if you consider a place launching bass boats, personal water craft and an occasional party barge a port.