One of Stans men pulled up hard on the physicians handcuffed hands, bending Dr. Hanes over in pain and cutting off his speech. It was a mistake.

The crowd didnt like the bullying, a few strong voices rising over the din, "Let him speak!" someone shouted. "Lets hear what he has to say!" came another.

Stan nodded at his man, the muscular ex-trucker backing off. It took a moment before the doctor could gather himself. "You all know me. I delivered half of your children, saved a good many of your lives. Lets have a trial... a jury of my peers... and the truth will come out. Mr. Gospel might as well be named Mr. Stalin... hes been deceiving all of us since the beginning."

In the flickering light of the burning trash barrels, Stan saw several heads nodding up and down. The mood of the crowd was turning against him, any sort of trial completely out of the question.

Standing close, the chief inhaled deeply. He could tell by his bosss body language that the man was barely controlling his temper, hardly able to keep his emotions in check. It reminded him of the moments before Greysons execution.

"What? What am I accused of doing?" Mr. Gospel screamed at the captives, spittle flying from his mouth. "What heinous falsehoods do you want to spew?"

The crowd grew silent, watching their leaders vivid hand gestures, taken aback by his wild, darting eyes. Victor answered the question, "Have a public trial. Examine the evidence. Let the people decide what youve done. Thats all we ask."

Mr. Gospels head trembled with rage; his jowls vibrated with wrath. In a lightning strike, he struck Victor in the head with a crushing blow, the handcuffed man knocked backward, bowling into the deputies behind him.

It was a mistake. Cries of outrage rose from the mob, several men surging forward in anger. Stans henchmen, manning a security picket in front of the platform, pushed back. Someone threw a rock, a woman screamed, another cried out from the crush of the throng.

The chief knew his boss was out of control, the experienced lawman keeping his regard focused on Stan, ready to intercede. When Mr. Gospel reached for the holstered pistol at the small of his back, the old cops instincts sent his own hand toward his weapon.

"I got your f.u.c.king trial; you son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Stan screamed as the nickel revolver came free of its holster.

The chief was three feet away, his service weapon clearing the holster just as Stan put the barrel of his pistol against the doctors temple. The cop fired three rapid shots, two hitting Mr. Gospel in the torso, the final bullet entered the brain.

Bedlam erupted across the Cartersville square.

Like a school of fish trying to escape an attacking shark, people scrambled, ran, and clamored in all directions at once. Shrieks of panic filled the air, elderly men and women knocked to the ground in the ensuing mayhem, children trampled under the pressing mob.

Stans body thumped hard onto the platform, Victor and the doctor flung aside as deputies and security men all reached for their weapons. One of the ex-truckers and a stalwart supporter of Mr. Gospel was drawing his gun when the image of the chiefs smoking pistol came into view.

Furious that someone had attacked the man who had saved his life, he opened up on the chief, several shots slamming into the senior lawmans chest and head.

Grim and Kevin were above it all, observing the town square from the third story window of what had once been a furniture store in the center of town. "Holy Mother of G.o.d," Grim cursed when the shots rang out, the entire scene unfolding less than a 100 yards away.

The two Alliance men stayed low and back, shocked at how quickly things spiraled out of control.

In a matter of seconds, the security-teamsters were squaring off against the towns deputies. Pistol shots filled the air as the two sides rushed for cover. Grim could see the occasional head pop up, followed by one or two hastily fired rounds.

Throughout it all, Victor and the doctor laid p.r.o.ne on the stage, both men still handcuffed and unable to bolt for freedom.

"Both of the towns honchos are dead, and it looks like a civil war is taking shape right before our eyes," Grim observed, watching the half-a.s.sed firefight between the divided security forces. "Thats not what we were supposed to accomplish on this mission. Nick is going to be p.i.s.sed to high heaven."

"No kidding. The two guys who are on our side are going to get hit eventually. I see more and more men joining both sides of the fight."

It occurred to Grim that they might still be able to salvage the situation, but it would take well-known local figures to calm things down. "Lets go pull those guys off the stage and save their bacon. Maybe they can help us reestablish order."

Kevin looked at his superior as if Grim was insane. "Seriously? You want to go into that square and get our b.u.t.ts shot off?"

Grim smirked at the kids reaction, "Whats the big deal? It just a bunch of scared s.h.i.tless cowboys plinking at each other. h.e.l.l, Ive not seen a single man get hit yet."

Shaking his head, Kevin said, "Youre in charge, sir. Lead the way."

They climbed down the rickety old fire escape, more confident in the descent since the rusty metal had supported their earlier climb. Grim hit the ground first, moving to the corner to cover his partner.

Sensing Kevin at his back, the former contractor hustled across the street, zigzagging to throw off anyone thinking of sending lead his way. Once Grim was safe on the opposite side, Kevin zipped around the corner, and then the two men headed for the square, their weapons high and ready, sweeping both sides of the street.

When they approached the next corner, Grim shouted, "Cover me from that park bench," and then sprinted onto the courthouse gra.s.s. Kevin was on a knee, using the thick wooden backrest as both support for his rifle and as a barrier against incoming fire.

When Grim was 20 yards away from the stage, he flipped his carbine around to his back. Rather than mount the steps to the platform, he leaped aboard head first, using Stans body as cover.

After waiting a moment to see if his movement drew any fire, Grim rolled over to the chiefs p.r.o.ne body, finding the handcuff key where all cops kept it. He belly crawled toward Victor and the doc.

One of the Stans security men noticed the movement, yelling, "Whos that on the stage?" to his friends.

Someone answered, "Theyre trying to flank us," and just like that, several pistols began firing rounds in Grims direction.

Kevin saw it, sensing the change in sound and the brightness of the muzzle flashes. The outline of a shooter was in his crosshairs a moment later, the roar of his rifle echoing off of the surrounding buildings. He didnt miss.

Both the cops and truckers realized the game had changed. An eerie quiet filled the square the only sound coming from the platform when Grim grunted to lift Victor into a firemans carry. The doctor was able to walk on his own.

Kevin noticed another fellow rising from the cover of a parked car, his pistol arching in Grims direction. Again, the .308s thunder cracked through the air, a cloud of red mist replacing the shooters head.

Burdened by the slow moving physician and the unresponsive Victor on his shoulder, Grim felt like he was watching a movie in slow motion. He heard, rather than saw, Kevins high-powered rounds doing their work. But in the mayhem, there were still rounds zipping past his head.

Spinning to give the doctor a head start, Grim fired several wild shots one-handed from the hip. He didnt expect to hit anything with the poor technique, hoping only to force his enemys head down.

A few seconds later, Grim dashed past Kevin, shouting out the instructions, "Cover me!" as Victors body bounced on his shoulder.

It took Stans thugs a few moments to realize that their game was up if Victor and the doc survived. Mere seconds after that, one of the faster thinking of their ranks began issuing commands and organizing their force.

More men were arriving all the time, drawn by the sound of gunfire and screaming. Kevin, trying to give Grim and Dr. Hines a reasonable head start, noted more and more long guns were amongst the forces now a.s.sembling on both sides.

The deputies and ex-lawmen were vastly outgunned, and they knew it. Stans truckers had numbered in the thousands, the able-bodied men in the hundreds. The majority had been drafted into the security force.

With their chief dead, an inferior sized force, and no clear leadership emerging, the lawmen seemed content to barricade themselves in one corner of the square and wait it out.

Stans security heavies, on the other hand, started moving toward Kevins bench.

When the kid fired the next shot, he hoped seeing one of their own fall would give the approaching shooters reason to reconsider. Firing into the teamsters had the opposite effect.

Rifles began pounding lead in Kevins direction, splinters and dirt filling the air. He dove, rolled, and crawled across the street.

Grim appeared at that moment, unburdened by Victors body, and dashing like a demon. In a flash, he was between the scuttling kid and the oncoming attackers. Like a drummer pounding out a cadence, Grims finger began squeezing the trigger.

At a rate of two to three shots per second, the battle-hardened mans fire tore into the approaching skirmish line, shot after shot finding flesh, sinew, and bone.

Spewing 28 rounds in less than two breaths, Grims empty magazine was rattling across the pavement, a new one inserted faster than the eye could follow. Another volley of high velocity death then followed.

So accurate was Grims barrage, the gaggle of security men scattered, many of them running in retreat. More than a handful of moaning, withering bodies littered the sidewalks, another number unable to move at all.

And then like a ghost, the figure that had sprayed death into their ranks was gone, the swish of his shadow disappearing around the corner.

It took a moment for the terror and fear to morph into anger. As more and more reinforcements arrived, the security force began to regroup.

Grim, Kevin and the two locals didnt have much of a head start, but they would take what they could get. Pushing aside his frustration at how slowly they were moving, Grim said, "The only thing I know to do is get the f.u.c.k out of here."

They continued running, using a dark side street and trying to make their way north. At the next crossing, Grim announced, "Were way outnumbered, and its going to take the friendly locals a while to get organized. We have to get our two friends to safety, and that means out of this town."

For such a small berg, it seemed to the Alliance men like it was taking forever to reach the edge of Cartersville. Both Grim and Kevin knew theyd feel better once they reached a more rural environment.

Finally, three blocks ahead, Grim spied the same roadblock where hed met Cory just the night before. "Now were cooking with gas," he yelled between breaths. "Lets get out of Dodge."

Rather than respond, Kevin pulled up short and then dove for cover.

Several rifles opened up from the barricade, incoming rounds throwing sparks and chips of pavement into the air. Grim leapt as well, Victors limp body hitting the ground hard. "Sorry about that, bud," he whispered as his rifle came up.

Just as Grim had centered the first man in his sights, more rounds began impacting around his position these coming from behind.

Grim spun, catching a glimpse of several outlines moving up the street behind them. "f.u.c.k, Kevin! Were cut off! I got the rear; keep those a.s.sholes at the barricade off of us!"

Their position wasnt ideal, tactically or strategically. With only two abandoned cars and a single utility pole for cover, Grim could think of a hundred other places hed prefer as a Fort Apache.

Nor was maneuver an option, the nearest cross street now held by the enemy, oblong one-story buildings flanking both sides of the lane. There literally wasnt any place to go.

Grim scanned both high and low between shots. There werent any manhole covers to open for escape, no trees to climb. He seriously doubted any angels or helicopters were going to swoop down and save them.

More and more rounds shredded the cars and earth around them, an increasing symphony of pings, thwacks, and zings signaling their opponents were growing stronger by the second.

The air became harsh, difficult to breathe, polluted with a fog of cordite gun smoke, fragments of bullet-cut concrete, and snowflakes of lead-shaved metal. It burned the throats of the Alliance fighters, stung their eyes and denied their lungs.

Neither impending death nor fear burdened Grims mind. He was in his element, a state where all of his senses worked in harmony to derive an advantage, any advantage, to win the fight. The ricocheting scream of a near miss invoked a mechanical string of computations and commands, his carbines barrel adjusting to address the threat. The sharp stab of ear-pain from a heavy bullet just missing his head automatically adjusted his targeting priority.

Marathon runners often claimed to reach a state of mental euphoria called a "runners high." Grim was now in a place his comrades called a "gunners high."

But his internal, business-like calm of combat was about to be shattered.

"Im down to 40," announced Kevins frightened voice, informing Grim he was going to run out of ammo soon.

"Make em count, kid. Hurt em bad," was the only thing he could think of to say.

Nick is going to skin my dead carca.s.s for getting his boy killed, Grim thought. Im sorry, my friend. I did my best. He went out fighting as well as any man Ive ever served with.

Despite the deadly accurate return fire, the men at both ends of the trap were growing impatient. Grim saw them bunching up, ready to execute a multi-p.r.o.nged a.s.sault.

"Here they come, right and left," he yelled to Kevin. "Ive got the left side."

A blizzard of debris, gla.s.s, concrete, metal shavings, and hot lead filled the air around the two Alliance defenders. Despite every natural instinct to duck and stay low, Grim and Kevin rose and began returning as much h.e.l.l as they could dish out.

It worked, the enemys charge faltering after three men in front dropped down, tripping others behind them. "Amateurs. You f.u.c.ked up," Grim whispered. "You were bunched too tightly."

He also knew they wouldnt make that mistake again.

"Im out," sounded Kevins excited voice.

Grim drew his sidearm, throwing the pistol across to his partner and then following the toss with his only spare magazine. "Youve got 15 rounds. Make em count."

Checking his own ammo supply, Grim frowned. He was down to three magazines, each holding 28 rounds. His hand felt for the knife on his belt, but the hilt didnt generate much comfort.

The operator knew instinctively the opponents were regrouping for another charge. Without Kevins rifle covering the other side of the street, he figured the kid and he would be overrun in the next 30 seconds, maybe less.

And here they came.

With better s.p.a.cing than the previous attempt and moving at a faster pace, they surged with twenty men on each side of the road. It was a mad rush at Grim and Kevins position. Again, a wall of bullets tore into the Alliance defenders cover.

Grim took his time, making sure every one of his precious bullets dropped a man. But the aggressors were too close and too numerous. Again and again, he dropped one of the charging outlines, but they kept coming.

When the combatants managed a position within 50 yards, Kevin started firing with his pistol. Grim wasnt sure how accurate the kid could be at that range, but at least he would distract some of the blistering, incoming fire.

Grim noticed one, and then another man on Kevins side of the street fall. Then a third went down, immediately followed by a fourth. d.a.m.n, he thought, I knew the kid was h.e.l.l on wheels with a long gun, but that is some serious combat shooting with a pistol.

Returning to the cl.u.s.ter of attackers on his side of the road, Grim was amazed to see two of them fall as well. "What the h.e.l.l?" he muttered, emptying another magazine.

Again, the a.s.sault stalled, confused men peering all around them as it trying to determine where the death was coming from.

A huge shadow appeared out of nowhere, bright muzzle flashes illuminating a new presence on the battlefield. Accurate, debilitating, fire began pounding into the flank of the cl.u.s.tered attackers. Down they went, one after another. Grim laughed, raising his newly-reloaded carbine to add to the carnage. "We just found your dad," he shouted over to a wide-eyed Kevin. "Looks like Cory is with him as well."

Despite the champions being comprised of only two men, Nick and Corys attack on their flank was too much for the ineffectively led and lightly trained security forces. In less than a minute, they broke, scampering wildly in retreat.

"Come on!" Nick waved at his besieged teammates. "Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?"

They still had the smaller group of defenders at the barricade to worry about, but their enthusiasm to fight seemed to have faltered after seeing their comrades take a serious a.s.s whooping.

As Grim started to lift Victor onto his shoulder, Nick appeared at his side. "Ive got him. You need a break," the larger team leader announced.

Effortlessly, Nick hefted the tiny looking merchant. After glancing over at Kevin and nodding, the four SAINT members, along with the two locals, faded away into the night.

"Im d.a.m.n glad to see you, but where the h.e.l.l did you come from?" Grim asked as the team moved away from Cartersville.

"When Cory explained to me what was going on, I decided wed better see if we could lend a.s.sistance. We heard the gunfire, so we drove the truck and hid it closer to town. I figured if there was shooting going on, you were probably in the middle of it," Nick grinned.

"Well, thank the heavens for small miracles. That one was getting close," Grim responded.

"Well talk about my sons welfare while under your charge later," Nick stated. Grim couldnt tell if the big guy was kidding or not.

They found the pickup, left behind a barn in waist-high weeds. Victors moaning signaled hed regained consciousness, the merchants nose broken by Stans mighty blow. Nick tossed the doctor a first aid kit and then observed as the physician went about tending to his friend.

Satisfied the injured man was receiving excellent care, Nick then moved to Kevins side. He watched as his son tried to reload a magazine, the young mans hands trembling so badly he couldnt hold onto a cartridge.

Gently placing his hand over Kevins, Nick said, "Its okay, son. Everything is going to be fine. Youre safe now."