Darkness

DARKNESS

By Andy Pearson © 2024

Darkness was on my side. I knew the house. 

The owners of the footsteps didn’t. When the lights went out, I knew they were finally here. I didn’t know who they were, but I knew they were here.  

I spotted the followers a week earlier. Perhaps they were there earlier. Probably. Who knows. I know I spotted them on Friday. 

I saw the first one at the gas station. With my arms draped over the side of my truck bed, sticky with sweat from the afternoon humidity, I listened to the pump whirring, as I pondered the gallons going into my tank at a lower speed than the dollars exiting my wallet. I turned my head to look at the misery on the digital readout. He was watching from behind the window display advertising the three-dollar Big Gulp and hotdog meal. 

Honestly, I only later made the connection because of his hat. His was Oakland A’s green and gold. I wouldn't have noticed if he’d been wearing a Cubs hat. There are Cubs fans everywhere. Watch a Yankees / Red Sox game and you’ll see Cubs fans sporting red, white, and blue team colors, but never a green and gold Oakland A’s cap in Harlan, Iowa.  Maybe a Twins cap, certainly a Royals cap, but an A’s. Never. The moment I noticed him, his face was cemented in my memory. 

On Saturday I stopped at Bomgaars,  looking for some new lures for bass fishing when I saw him. He was standing at the end of the aisle, at the fishing pole display, waving an Abu Garcia pole. He wasn’t wearing the hat. They’re not that stupid. No hat, but the mustache from yesterday was real. Neatly trimmed dark mustache sitting under a bent nose bookmarked by scarred ears. All of this was supported by a neck that was so thick it was almost missing. He’d earned a face through the university of hard knocks. Possibly a PhD from the looks of things. This was a man who’d been in some fights. Judging from his thick arms and legs, I surmised he had a winning record.

He saw me make the connection. He dropped the pole back onto the display and disappeared around an endcap. I raced along the back wall to the fishing aisle and saw his brown jacket and short hair turning the corner near the cash registers. With some more hustle, I made it to the front of the store and saw him dive into a dark Suburban. I stopped at the cash registers still holding the silver fiberglass minnow I had hoped to use on Sunday at Lake Manawa. I didn’t want to get hauled in for shoplifting. The suburban turned left out of the lot. Bent nose got into the passenger seat, which meant there were at least two of them. 

On Tuesday, I found two more. I was in a window seat at the Milk and Honey diner for breakfast. I’d just gotten my M&H eggs benedict, which for Iowa are pretty darn good. I was thanking Stephanie, the server, when two men slid out of a dark suburban in the lot. The new Carhartt jackets they were sporting as local camouflage among the morning breakfast crowd didn’t sell. I finished my meal ignoring them while not ignoring them.

 They ordered coffee and toast. Another giveaway. The food is too good at M&H for just toast at two dollars a serving. The coffee at M&H is pretty good, so maybe if they’d just ordered coffee, but nobody orders just toast. I knew why they did it. They wanted something fast, but something to make them look like they were regular Joes just stopping in for food before hitting the job site. Camouflage is about patterns and behaviors. They’d missed both. I paid and left while watching for the dark vehicle in the lot. It was not in sight. This meant some communication link with the team inside. These guys were starting to worry me.

The lights went out at 9:45 on Wednesday night. I was in bed reading with a small light clipped to my hardback when the ceiling fan slowed and stopped. I looked up at the still blades and realized I needed to dust them. Later. 

I clicked off the booklight and the room went into darkness. While my eyes slowly dilated, I waited and listened. Nothing. I tossed the blankets aside and eased out of bed.  At the edge of the window, I looked out over the driveway. I’ve seen the blackness of night in the mountains, but that’s broken up by darker jagged peaks. The rocky summits give contrast to the blank night sky. In nowhere Iowa, there’s just darkness. The Mid-West prairie is a uniform black that surrounds you in every direction like you’ve fallen into a well. I waited.

I heard the board on the front porch squeak quietly. I’d never fixed that. My wooden alarm system was working perfectly. They were coming slowly, otherwise, I would have heard doors crash open, windows breaking, and running footsteps. 

Moving from the window, I slipped on the jeans I’d tossed to the end of the bed and pulled on my Nikes rather than boots.  A solid shoe is a blessing in combat, but stealth and speed would make the difference in this problem.  

The air pressure changed in the house. A door must have opened. It’s the little things, like how the air changes in a house when a door opens, that count as home-field advantage.

I opened the door to the hallway and waited with a hand on the knob. They hadn’t mounted the stairs yet.  If it were me, I’d clear the bottom floor first and then post someone at the stairs while moving upwards. Top-down is also a good tactic, but in rural Iowa, Blackhawks and fast-roping swat teams might be noticed

Sliding out the door into the hall, I moved to the bathroom. The window was already open. It led to the roof above the front door. Sliding out the narrow gap, I settled onto the asphalt shingles. They were still warm from the day’s sun and felt comforting.  

I waited for three beats to check a new theory I had.

Report movement. 

Get clearance. 

Center reticle. 

Time for me to move. I slid to the edge of the roof as the muted crack of a subsonic round from a suppressed weapon hit the roof where I’d been. Yep. I also would have left a sniper somewhere to provide cover and watch for a squirter.  A squirter. A runner. Me.

Everyone heard the shot. Suppressed rounds are just that. Suppressed, not silent.  There’s still the sound of gunpowder deflagrating violently inside the chamber, the sound of a small object moving quickly through dense Iowa humidity; and the impact of the small object on a wooden roof.  It all makes a sound. 

Now, I’d have to fix that roof.

Rolling off the shingles, I landed in the dense shrubs I‘d planted there two years ago. In the city, shrubs hide burglars. In the country, they cushion falls. A bit scratchy, but enough to prevent injury. I hoped I’d sold that move to the sniper. He’d be reporting the fall at least.  

I rolled under the porch and kept rolling to the house's foundation. Two quick movements of elbows and knees, I was at the corner. 

Peering around, I didn’t see anyone. With two more quick elbows and knees, I was at the basement bulkhead doors. Gently opening one, I slithered down the steps as I heard footsteps pounding the front porch. The door slid shut quietly on its thin hydraulic arm. I knew I had a few moments inside the basement before the pursuit got moving.  When they didn’t find a body in those bushes, they’d start looking with speed, noise, and light. Bright booming lights.  

I grabbed the edge of the standup freezer and slid it sideways. The hidden door gleamed dull grey. Six numbers in the keypad and it opened inward with a quiet flow of air pushing against it. Positive pressure. Always a good plan. I slid the freezer back and clicked the door shut.  

The battery-powered lights in the room came on dimly. No need to blind myself.  I walked to the desk and clicked a few buttons on the keyboard. Monitors came to life. The men in black were moving quickly. I counted four, but I surmised the sniper was still out there. 

Ok. Four to deal with in the house. One, maybe two outside. I could kill them. It wouldn’t be the first time. Perhaps, I could convince the powers that started this evening not to do it again. I liked that plan. I like Iowa. It’s usually quiet. I enjoy that.

So how to disable four guys, and send a message? They were moving as teams so it would be two at a time. Hard, but doable.  

Taser? Tasers don’t knock you out. They knock you down. Not out and not incapacitated. Down can be good if the fight is one-on-one, but not two-on-one where the other guy is carrying a rifle.

I stared at the screen. Body armor? Yep, they were wearing body armor.  But like a turtle or Achilles heel, armor isn’t everywhere. A plan opened up. Turning around, I opened a wall locker. Several rifles gleamed quietly. The twelve-gauge Benelli shotgun is a very good shotgun for this type of work. Gas operated so no need to run the action. Solid frame with a deep tubular magazine. Stuffing shells into the weapon and my pockets, I paused and looked at the inventory in the locker. I grabbed a Glock pistol in a clip-on pancake holster in case my nice plan didn’t work.  

Turning back to the screens, two black-clad men started up the stairs while the other two moved through the lower rooms. They’d get to the kitchen soon. I needed to hurry. I quickly climbed the stairs to the kitchen door. I eased it open and slid through. Passing the sink, I grabbed a plastic bottle of dish soap. Easing to a stop beside the refrigerator, I turned and tossed the soap dispenser down the stairs.  

It clunked quietly on the treads. I waited.

The kitchen door came open and the two moved into the room. The gaping door into the cellar caught their eyes for just a moment. When clearing a room, clear the room first then address other threats. If you don’t, this is what can happen. 

Boom.  Boom. Two bean bag rounds from the Benelli to two different hamstrings. I was much too close according to the manufacturer-recommended seven-yard standoff to prevent serious injury. They dropped in pain and shock as though they had been shot. Moving quickly, I hit each with the butt of the rifle. They stopped moving. The Benelli has a solid stock. It is also very loud. The two upstairs heard it. I imagine the sniper heard it.

I moved out of the kitchen to the living room and waited.

“Team two,” I heard a quiet voice say above me on the stairs.

“Team two,” I heard again. Then quiet.

I waited silently. I could imagine the hand signals upstairs. 

Hand over head.  Cover me.

Fingers walking- I’m going down the stairs

Point-fingers walking- you come down.

A nod in agreement and then a tighter grip on the rifle.

I waited while the pantomime show took place.

Finally, I saw the leg just touch the last stair. 

Boom.

A scream and he dropped. One more to his black helmet and he stopped moving.

Silence.

Now upstairs man had a tactical problem. He could call in the sniper, but that’s a risky move. The sniper would have to make a room entry by himself and that’s dumb. Upstairs man could try and rush the stairs, but that’s a no-go.

I let the silence go a few more minutes to really let him soak in the problem.  A few minutes is a long time, but I’m patient. I live in Iowa. Our calendar is at the pace of the growing season.

“Hello, upstairs,” I said. No answer.

“Hello. I know you’re there. Let’s discuss this,” I said conversationally. Still nothing.

“Come on buddy. Your friends aren’t dead. Well, I hope not. That bean bag to the head might be dicey. The other two are just out for now. If this takes too long, they might wake up then there’ll be some on-purpose killing and I’d rather not,” I said to the quiet stairs.

“Come on man. I know you’re not calling in the sniper. I’ll bet he’s the driver too, isn’t he? So he’s got the car right?” I said to more silence.

“Dude seriously. I’m getting tired of the silent treatment. Your boys need to see a doctor.  Look, I’m going to toss something up the stairs, ok? Just take a look and get back to me,”  I said. I took a bean bag round from my pocket and tossed it up.

I heard shuffling and then a voice.

“What do you want?” said the voice upstairs with a slight twang.

“What do I want? I want y’all to come over for breakfast,” I said mimicking the twang.  “What the hell do you think I want? I want you to collect your buddies, get out of my house, my town, and leave me alone.”

“Can’t do it,” the upstairs man said. “Even if we leave others will come.”

“Sure you can. Tell your boss at whatever alphabet you work for that if I see anyone again, not only will there be killing. Killing that won’t end here in Iowa, but even worse, there’ll be news stories. Lots of news stories in lots of papers with really good quotes from an inside source. I’ve kept my mouth shut for this long and I’ll keep it shut, but Iowa is off limits. Tell them that,” I said.

“How do I know you won’t shoot me?” upstairs man asked.

“There are no guarantees in this line of work. You know that. But I won’t and that’s all you get. Sling your rifle, snap your holster, come down, and get your buddies. Call your friend outside to bring the ride up. I’ll be watching so don’t get stupid,” I said.

I worked my way around the bottom floor and waited. The suburban pulled up slowly.  I heard faint talking and the process of moving their friends out. I waited in the darkness as the lights faded onto Highway 191.

Lowering my shotgun, I stood in the quiet of the inky mid-west prairie. In the distance, I saw lightning. Dang it- rain coming and I’ve got a hole in my roof. I turned with the shotgun cradled in my arm and went looking for my tools.