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Old 03-23-2017, 08:12 PM   #119
Icelander
 
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Join Date: Mar 2006
Location: Iceland*
Default If You Find Yourself Alone, Riding in the Green Fields with the Sun on Your Face...

Cherry Bell holds the short-barrelled Remington 870 shotgun in front of her as she navigates the stairs up to the second floor of the rear annex to the main building of Manhanock Asylum. All those years ago, when she’d been a soldier… and young, she‘d fired an M16A2 rifle and several types of semi-automatic pistol, but this is the first time she‘s held a shotgun.

‘Beanbag’ projectiles allegedly work completely differently from normal shotgun projectiles, in any case. Cherry should have felt nervous at the idea of having to learn how to use one in a firefight, but instead, she’s elated and confident. So what if I can’t shoot this thing? If anybody tries anything, I’ll make them unable to see me or anything else. That ought to give me long enough to learn.

It’s true that when two guards wearing full tactical gear came down the corridor at once, Bell had only been able to affect one of them before the other started shooting at her, giving her quite a scare. But she’d been able to take cover and Chase had taken both of them out as soon as he heard she was in trouble. And been happy with her performance, said he trusted her. Which, until just minutes ago, Bell never would have thought he even needed to say to her. Chase was her faithful boy puppy, reliably fond of her, not somebody whose approval she should have to seek and value.

Dr. Anderson had said that when he’d been doing his residency at Manhanock Asylum, the second floor of the annex had been a reference library, a part of the patient archives, some interview rooms and a staff lounge and break room. Bell hadn’t spent much time in the main buildings and when she had, it had been in the front one, where both Dr. Cotton and Warden Tyrrell had offices and other workspaces, but from what she had gathered, the staff lounge was still used, but the interview rooms in the rear annex were now used for archives as well.

There are no lights on the stairs and the corridor they emerge on is poorly lit, but there are lights at the end, where the staff lounge is. Bell decides to move everybody there first, before she clears the rest of the area, as having a bunch of untrained and unarmed people moving along with them is bad for security. To that end, she points Dr. Anderson and O’Toole in that direction and just takes a quick scan herself down the corridor, toward the front main building. It annoys her that she doesn’t have anyone to watch her blind side, but then again, if Chase says there isn’t anybody waiting up here, there probably isn’t. When it comes to small unit tactics, he doesn’t seem very puppyish at all.

A shotgun blast and another flashbang roar from downstairs punctuate Bell’s thoughts. O’Toole worries momentarily, but Dr. Anderson and Bell are both supremely confident that this represents Taylor chastising the guards and not vice versa. Dr. Anderson notes that Cherry Bell is trying to guard both the front and rear of the column of fugitives at the same time. He spots two men wearing orderly outfits among the former hostages and instructs them to take over carrying the stretcher with Mrs. York, so that O’Toole, at least, will be able to assist her in securing the area.

The staff lounge is empty, with a television turned to CBS ‘News at 11’, though as it is slightly past midnight, it’s probably a local affiliate showing it an hour late. It’s something about Supreme Court nominee Neil Gorsuch and his alleged conservative credentials or hypothetical lack thereof. Bell turns it off before the talking head can explain further. Aside from a couple of TVs, sofas and a small kitchenette, there is a pool table in the staff rec area. Dr. Anderson asks some of the stronger men among the former hostages to help him turn it over, give them some cover if guards on the outside start shooting through windows. While he’s doing that, Bell and O’Toole move out to clear other rooms.

Bell determined that the two doors at the end of the staff lounge were closed and didn’t give when she pulled at the doorknob. This means she can focus on the other side of the area, up to where it connects with the front central building. She moves out in a credible imitation of a room-clearing commando, actually managing to support O’Toole and cover the area he doesn’t. That is, until O’Toole passes an open door to his left without checking it. Bell tries to give him signals, but he isn’t looking back, so she glances appealingly all the way back to Dr. Anderson, making a hand signal to him which clearly signals that she considers O’Toole mentally deficient. Anderson shrugs back.

Dr. Anderson: “Emma, will you be okay here for a while?”
Dr. Emma King: “I’m a doctor, Michael. I’ll be fine. I can check if anybody is hurt.”

Dr. Anderson moves to see if he can talk to O’Toole, call him back without making too much noise before he wanders all the way through the connecting corridor to the front building, where there might be guards. O’Toole, however, stops suddenly. He’s heard breaking glass in the next room. Without waiting for support, O’Toole leaps through the door to that room, which is dark and with an obvious draft.

---

Taylor is strongly tempted to use the grenade. If the men waiting on the stairs are disciplined and competent, any other method of dealing with them is probably going to get him shot. Which might be acceptable, if painful, for LTL shotgun ammunition, but which would truly suck for anything else. The tactical vest and PASGT helmet Taylor is wearing would stop buckshot, but that still leaves around three-fourths of his body wearing stab-protective armour, clothing or nothing at all, no protection against 00 buckshot. And 5.56x45mm NATO ammunition would blow through him no matter where it hit. It ain’t jes’ you at risk, boy. You’ve got folks relying on you.

Stupid or not stupid, Taylor just can’t do it. The two men aiming down the stairs might not have had any part in anything that happened to Sherilyn. They might be serving Warden Tyrrell out of fear, even because their families were threatened. They might be praying to be spared, to be allowed to surrender to the Coast Guard, for their families to be saved. Taylor is aware that he’s killed men in war who might be no guiltier or more willing to fight than these guards, but… well, maybe young soldiers aren’t the best judges of the sanctity of human life.

Besides, the two men have been waiting there for over two minutes, expecting someone to come into view any second. Real soldiers would still be alert. Security guards, maybe not so much. All it takes is a half second of hesitation. Before he can reconsider, Taylor slides into view with his shotgun at the ready, moving as fast as he can.

With his peripheral vision, he notes the guard to his right adjust the muzzle of his assault rifle slightly. Taylor moves his shotgun to deal with the other one first. That one, however, fat and clumsy, standing in an awkward crouch on the top of the stairs, doesn’t appear to have any fat between his ears. He pulls the trigger of his Remington 870 before Taylor can fire.

The fat guard doesn’t seem to have any trouble with accuracy either. Taylor can feel a blow through his right arm. He grimaces, bracing for pain, but it doesn’t seem to stop him from pulling his own trigger. Taylor’s shotgun was knocked a little out of line, but his beanbag round still hits the fat guard in the ear, spoiling his pumping action.

Noting with part of his mind that some of the shot from the guard’s shotgun missed his neck by about two inches, Taylor can see why the hit to his arm didn’t hurt more. The wooden stock of his Remington is shot through, but not one of the buckshot appears to have hit Taylor. He can only attribute this to divine providence.

Without using his stock, Taylor switches targets and engages the guard on the other side, who still hasn’t started firing his assault rifle. A beanbag round to the jaw knocks that guard clean out. The fat guard wasn’t badly hurt by a beanbag to the ear and Taylor struggles to get up from his slide and ready his shotgun for another shot.

Before he can chamber another round, however, the fat guard stumbles to the side and in trying to regain his balance, falls down the stairs. Tumbling head over heels, the guard somehow manages to hit one of the steps heavily with his pelvis. What could have been just an embarrassing pratfall becomes cause for wincing, as the guard clearly injures his thigh and abdomen on the metal-shod stairs, howling in pain and losing his shotgun in the process.

Taylor manages to end his slide standing up next to the wall to the side of the left stairway. He still hasn’t chambered a round in his Remington when his peripheral vision warns him that there is somebody else in the corridor, coming at him fast. It’s a huge man wearing tactical gear, but instead of a helmet, he’s wearing an old-fashioned guard cap. He’s holding an M14 rifle with a shortened barrel and some kind of close-combat optic, but not in a firing position. Instead, he seems to be using it as a hockey stick to charge Taylor with, wanting to ram him against the wall with it.

Warden Tyrrell, Taylor thinks, before smashing his shotgun stock to meet the charging Warden. Taylor connects under the M14, hitting the floating rib on the right side of the body, hard enough to break the stock of his shotgun, which flies away. The powerful blow doesn’t seem to faze Tyrrell or slow him down any.

Taylor is already off balance, too close to the wall for giving any ground and without any weapon in hand. He’s also badly hurt from a series of hard knocks, being shot and having been on fire. Before Tyrrell hits, Taylor has just a fraction of a second to adjust his stance, try to get under Tyrrell. Taylor grins without any warmth in it. Bring it on.
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