Free The Antiterrorist: A Jake Corby Sci-Fi Thriller (Mysterious Events Book 2) by Al Macy Page B

much there was. I smashed the glass with the crowbar. I took off one shoe, tossed it out into the window well, and directed an ow-I-cut-myself yell toward the ceiling. For good measure, I banged one of the ceiling joists with the crowbar then dropped off the table and burrowed under a pile of trash on the other side of the basement.
    I peered out from my cozy hideaway. Twiggy and her sidekick rushed down the stairs, Keystone-Cop fashion. Tweedledum pulled out his trusty commando sword.
    Twiggy crashed around through the piles of garbage, working her way toward me. “Okay, he got loose, but he didn’t come up the stairs. He’s got to be here somewhere.”
    No, look at the window, dummies.
    “Hey, the window,” Tweedledum said. Finally .
    “Oh, crap, he’s gone.” They rushed back up the stairs and, I hoped, out the door.
    I exploded from my rat’s nest, ran to the window, and retrieved my shoe. Adrenaline dulled the pain from my new injuries, and I sprinted up the stairs. They hadn’t even closed the basement door.
    The upstairs wasn’t as messy as the basement, but it would never get into Better Homes and Gardens .
    This wasn’t the terrorist/militia compound. They must have moved me when I was unconscious. I sidled up to a window but saw no one outside. The place was isolated. No other houses nearby. A short run to the dense forest and I’d be home free. I just had to figure out where the dynamic duo was. That’s when I heard that word again. Well, two words, actually.
    “Freeze, dumb-ass.”
    * * *
    Why hadn’t I seen her come toward me?
    I had nothing to lose. If I didn’t get away, I would die. So, I didn’t freeze; I spun around.
    I whirled like an ice skater. An ice skater with a crowbar. Tonya Harding, maybe. I whipped it out—the crowbar, that is—and smashed her gun arm. Her anorexic Twiggy forearm snapped like a, well, like a twig.
    She must have watched too many TV shows where the bad guy holds the gun right up against the hero. If she’d been standing across the room I’d be dead.
    I snatched the gun before it fell, knocked her to the floor, and smashed the crowbar down on her kneecap. “Oops.” I said.
    Sure, that sounds mean, but this woman-child had tortured me and would have killed me. I had to make her stay put, and tying her up wasn’t an option. What I wanted to do was put a zip tie around her damn neck.
    She screamed and stared up at me, all traces of womanhood gone. She was a white-faced twelve-year-old.
    I was considering the bad-karma consequences of smashing her other kneecap when the roar of a military helicopter shook the windows. Now the cavalry arrives. I put Twiggy’s gun in my pocket and went to the window. Two black helicopters in tight formation blasted over the treetops. One hovered with a machine gunner at the door. The other landed on the lawn.
    They swarmed out from the aircraft like bees from a hive, and I dragged my new girlfriend out onto the front deck. The lead commando recognized me and came over. He wore a Navy SEAL patch on his uniform.
    Over the thunder from the copters, he yelled, “Mr. Corby, how many bad guys here?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve seen three, but there could be more. One is a short, dumpy—there he is.”
    One of the SEALs led Tweedledum, in handcuffs, out of the house.
    “I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner, sir.” The leader frowned at my injuries. “Do you need a stretcher?”
    “No, I’m good. Let’s get out of here.”
    Someone else took charge of Twiggy, and I limped to helicopter one. Soon I was up, up, and away, watching the farmhouse recede. Mr. Bean was nowhere to be seen.
    Funny how adrenaline works. During my escape, all my aches and pains huddled together, whispering. “Gee, should we bother him now?” “No, no. He’s busy not dying. Let’s hold off.” “This is important. It really hurts. He needs to know that.” “No, he’s busy. Shut up.” But as soon as I was out of danger, they all