Free Finest Hour by Dr. Arthur T Bradley Page B

straps.
    “Give me a hand, will you?”
    Leila hurried forward to help lift the door.
    “What in the world are we going to do with this?” she said, grunting.
    “You’ll see.”
    Once they got it free, he lowered the door on the floor and pushed it into the waitress station. Realizing that it wasn’t quite wide enough standing upright, he tipped the door sideways so that the hinges rested on the ground. He slid the entire thing over next to the grill, the hinges leaving deep scratches in the tile that no buffer in the world was ever going to take out. When it was in place, he swung the door around, finally kicking it with his boot until it was wedged firmly between the grill and the counter.
    “You’re making a barricade.”
    “I hope we don’t need it, but it’s better to be prepared.”
    Mason hopped over the door and crouched behind it, checking for possible bullet trajectories. To the rear was a three-layer wall consisting of laminate, sheetrock, and brick. To the right was a bathroom and, beyond that, another brick wall. The big industrial grill sat to his left, and the cooler door protected the front. Climbing onto the roof and shooting down through the ceiling might be possible, but the enemy would not only be shooting blindly; they would also be giving away their position, a scenario that did not bode well for the shooter. All in all, it wasn’t bad for a makeshift defensive position.
    “Very clever,” Leila said, patting the door with her palm.
    He offered an appreciative nod.
    “Let’s just hope an entire gang of road warriors doesn’t show up for breakfast.”

    The sound of motorcycles whined closer, circled the parking lot, and then split off in several directions. Mason rested a hand on Bowie’s back, partly to reassure him, but mostly to keep him calm so as not to give away their position. Once the motorcycles had quieted, Mason and Leila peeked over the cooler door. Most of the gang had gone off to search other areas, but three of the ravagers remained behind. They watched as the men dismounted from their bikes and cautiously entered through the collapsed wall of the Dollar General.
    “They’re not sure where we went,” she whispered.
    “No, but we won’t be hard to find.”
    Leila pushed the slide on her Beretta back slightly to double-check that there was a round in the chamber.
    “What’s the plan?” she whispered.
    “We need to take them out quietly so as not to alert the others.”
    She looked down at the pistol in her hand and then over at his M4.
    “Not with these we’re not.”
    Mason looked around the restaurant. The place had been picked clean. Short of throwing plates, options were pretty scarce. He turned and looked out through one of the uncovered windows. The Dollar General might contain something useful, but with the Ravagers inside, it posed an even greater risk. His eyes settled on the bright red and white sign hanging above the Jiffy Lube.
    “Stay here.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “Over to that small garage.”
    “Why?”
    He stood up. “I’ll explain when I get back.”
    She reached over and grabbed his hand.
    “Mason…” There was a pleading to her voice, an unspoken worry that couldn’t quite find words.
    He leaned down and kissed her softly.
    “Five minutes, tops.”
    A smile touched her lips.
    “I’ve heard that before.”
    He kissed her again. “And I came back, didn’t I?”
    “Yes, you did.” She squeezed his hand. “Be careful.”
    Mason slid across the counter, and when he did, Bowie scrambled to his feet.
    “Sorry, boy, I’ve got to do this alone.”
    The dog whined.
    “If you leave,” Leila said in Bowie’s ear, looping her arm around his neck, “who’s going to protect me?”
    The dog licked her cheek but immediately turned his attention back to Mason.
    “I’ve got him,” she said. “Go.”
    Staying low, Mason edged around the counter and cautiously pushed his way back through the saloon doors. With the freezer door