299 Days IX: The Restoration Read Online Free

gently pushed on it. It was open! He marked it with a big “X.” Okay, there’s at least one open door which made it even more likely that squatters—or Limas—were in there.
    Grant wanted to open that door and see, but he knew that would be stupid. If people were inside and heard that, they’d be ready for an attack. No, Grant needed to have the whole Team—and preferably the Team from several directions—open those doors and go in ready to shoot. Curiosity killed the cat and might kill Grant if he didn’t hold back his curiosity. So he forced himself to move on to the next door.
    The fourth door was open, too. He marked it with an “X.” Two doors to enter from. Good. That was far better than just one.
    Without opening the door, Grant looked around for any signs of life in the building. None, just the trash blowing around. He was trying to see if any of the trash indicated people living in there, like food wrappers or even freshly soiled baby diapers. He didn’t see any trash indicating current occupants, but it was dark and he was trying not to lose his concentration on threats that might pop out when he was staring at the garbage.
    Grant went around the last side of the building to see if there was another door, which there wasn’t. Just four doors on three sides. It was dangerous moving on this last side of the building because it faced the street and there was a street light. He would be silhouetted. Oh well, he said again to himself. Nothing was perfect out here. He had no choice but to play the hand he was dealt. Grant had to check this last remaining side of the building. He couldn’t have his guys running through that area only to find out a bunch of Limas were sitting there. He had to be able to go back and tell his guys that there was no one on the outside perimeter of the building.
    Grant carefully advanced along the last side of the building. He was moving from behind cover each time. He turned his weapon light off since the street light illuminated the area well. The only purpose his weapon light would serve right now would be as a big “shoot here” target.
    Grant looked at the street lights. They illuminated the rain coming down. It had turned from a steady rain to a light drizzle. Grant was soaking wet. He was glad he had that black knit hat to keep his head warm. HQ had even given him a little patch with a second lieutenant’s bars. Grant had stapled that onto his knit cap. That’s how low-tech they were: lieutenant’s bars stapled onto a hat.
    In the drizzle, Grant was glad he had Mechanix shooting gloves to maintain his grip on his rifle. The Team always trained with gloves on. Good shooting gloves, which weren’t too expensive, protected hands from sharp edges, hot barrels, and accidental cuts from all the knives they used in the field. Any one of those things could injure a hand and put a guy out of action. Grant realized that he was hardly noticing something else: that he was wet and cold but didn’t care. All he cared about was clearing that building and getting the 17th in there safely.
    Grant stopped when he got to the last corner. He didn’t want to run around that corner and have the Team shoot him, so he used one of the most low-tech communication devices they had. He had learned it from his Indian grandfather, although Grandpa never envisioned it being used that way.
    He moistened his lips and let out a bird call. It wasn’t a fancy one, or one that was particularly good. It was just a whistle loosely based on the sound birds in the area made.
    The guys recognized that a person was doing a bird call and, given how much time Grant had been out, figured it was about time he would be coming around that corner. They gave him the same “bird call” back from around the corner. Good. The guys now knew that it was him and not an enemy. Grant realized that in training and planning they should have come up with a standardized and recognizable fake bird call.
    As Grant rounded the