The wound on his calf could wait – the Blade had fought through worse.

Vern felt the clock ticking down in the back of his mind. ‘Was my cover blown or did these goons just get lucky? And are reinforcements on the way?’

Of course, he had prepared to bug out at a moment’s notice if necessary.

But it would be a shame to uproot everything when he was just starting to feel settled here. He didn’t want to abandon his literature course if he could avoid it, because, as much as he enjoyed re-reading Twilight through a critical feminist perspective, the Blade didn’t relish the idea of restarting that class again at a new college.

‘Hasn’t the war put me through enough already?’ mused Vern.

He decided to have a few words with his guests before he made a final decision: ‘Information is half the battle.’

He was going to grab some cable ties and secure his prisoners. But first he needed to secure the rest of the house and arm himself properly.

Vern picked up the dropped knife, a flip blade – 3 inches of steel that snuggly folded back into a reinforced fibre nylon handle, ‘nice’.

He pocketed the blade and searched for any other weapons they might have.

The two were still unconscious: ‘Sleeping like a couple of ugly babies,’ he chuckled. The fat one had a 9mm pistol on him, but his bearded companion had only brought the knife and his lacklustre hand-to-hand combat skills.

Vern checked the magazine, full, slid it back with a click and chambered a round, ‘seems like fatty greases his stomach more than the barrel,’ he thought.

Safety off. It was time to hunt.

He wasn’t too worried after seeing the calibre of the threat: the snoozing suits. They were a cut above a street thug but not at the level of a professional merc. Still, ‘if you get reckless you get killed. Right sergeant?’

He quickly and efficiently swept through his small home

The lounge and kitchen shared one large room, while a study, bathroom, and Vern’s bedroom were on the right of the hall that ran through the house from the front door to the back, an open room with sliding glass doors that led out into the backyard.

As he expected, the house was clear of other enemies.

Even so, he had a sense of danger, instinct won through years of battle that warned him to keep his guard up. It was rarely mistaken, yet Vern couldn’t place any source for this premonition of threat.

A dog howled in the streets outside and others soon joined the chorus, ‘they sound… scared?’

While ruminating on the possibilities, Vern quickly set about a couple of necessary tasks.

In the bathroom, Vern grabbed a bandage and quickly wrapped up his wounded calf, pulling his jeans back down over his handiwork before heading to the bedroom.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Vern didn’t like relying on another’s weapons. Too much could go wrong in the heat of battle where any mistake could be his last. So, he rearmed with his own Glock 9mm that he kept in his bedside table – faux mahogany, single lamp.

He squeezed the Glock affectionately.

The grip had been modified to contour perfectly with his hand, reflective iron sights were added for low-light aiming, and it went without saying that it was faultlessly maintained and tested often.

If the thug’s weapon had been your basic level 1 common loot, then Vern Blade’s own pistol was like a level 3 or 4.

That’s 2 or 3 whole levels above it!

Vern smiled as he clipped a holster to his belt, he just felt better with his own gun. Naturally, he had more powerful options around the house but for the time being a pistol would do.

He strode into his kitchen, with even more swagger to his step, and yanked open the bottom draw of his white-laminated kitchen counter. He snatched out a couple of large zip-tie cables, ‘These take me back’, perfect for loose hands.

Vern had ‘cuffed’ his two attackers, he left their feet unbound as he might need to walk them somewhere.

There was no way he was moving the big guy, but the other one he was able to drag and lean up against the wall, now he could keep an eye on both of them at once.

He’d noticed the dogs outside had quieted but didn’t think much of it.

Then everything shook, and the quiet of the night was broken by the roaring of wind.

Dogs, cats, anything out on the streets seemed to start screeching in pain.

Vern Blade had his gun out immediately and looked around sharply.

He hit the lights off and went to his front door. It was shaking, vibrating on its hinges, but holding in place.

Vern put his eye to the peephole but it he couldn’t make out anything, not even the hint of orange from the street lights. It was all black.

Something was coming through the door, around its edges, gassing into the room. ‘This isn’t right!’

Vern jumped back and slammed the hall light on, it flickered.

He saw what looked like a thick black fog oozing into his home. A quick glance into the lounge showed the same oozing around the windows. He didn’t have to look behind to know that his backdoor would be leaking as well.

‘So, I’m surrounded by a foe I can’t kill or avoid.’

Vern backed away from the fog, all the rooms had windows or ventilation to the outside, so they would all be filling with whatever this was.

There was one option. It was worth a shot.

Vern turned and sprinted to his room, from a window high on the opposite wall the fog was flowing down beside his bed.

He dived to his closet and tore it open. Searching furiously for the mask. It was stashed behind folded tee shirts, which he flung out onto the floor.

At last, he yanked out the rubber gas mask – he didn’t have high hopes for it, but it was better than nothing.

But before he could bring it to his face he twitched and froze.

His hand spasmed and the mask fell to the carpeted floor – style: Shaggy Alpine Retreat, colour: Egyptian Mau.

Vern Blade’s throat was itching, he wheezed tyring to suck in a breath and stumbled backwards.

He Could feel his legs giving out and tried to make it to his bed but fell on his face towards the floor.

“c’mon you son-of-a-bitch” he gasped through gritted teeth. And was able to force his arms up in front of him just in time to break his collapse.

He still landed heavily, he was a big guy, and he was thankful he’d spent a bit extra on a nice carpet. ‘It really is soft,’ Vern thought, ‘I owe that carpet saleswoman a beer sometime.’

The fog had filled the room and Vern wasn’t sure if he’d lost his sight or he could see nothing from within it.

A part of him wondered if this was happening everywhere, was this the strange weather forecast that people had been joking about?

He could no longer move his body. He lay uselessly on the floor, his left cheek pressed into the carpet.

Then pain burned through him. Every nerve seemed to be on fire from the tip of his head to the bottom of his toes. He didn’t scream but a low groan escaped through his clenched jaw as his body spasmed out of his control.

This wouldn’t break him, ‘is that all you’ve got!’

As the fog tore through his body like a sadistic toddler with a pile of Play-Doh, Vern blade could feel his consciousness slipping. His last thoughts were for his friends, his Sarge, and a certain @Bland_Bunny, ‘Are you alright out there, guys?’ he wondered as the darkness took him.