Moosehill Militia (Book 1): INFECTED by Paul Christian Page B

to remove his mask. Next he screwed on his suppressors onto his M-4 rifle and his M & P .45 caliber both barrels were altered to fit the suppressors too as you couldn’t just pick one up at your local gun store and he wanted no records of it. The actual suppressors he and Mac made in his Machine shop in Mac’s Garage. It’s a hobby of his. Using subsonic rounds he figured he was good for around forty rounds each before the noise level became noticeable again. Anyone could still hear the actions on the guns, the suppressor only stopped the crack from the gas escaping at sonic speeds, the suppressor slowed down the gas escaping in baffles in the suppressor cutting down the noise to something and average person’s ear would probably mistake for something other than a gunshot.
    He took a moment and breathed in a controlled manner. Time to move, he got to his feet and after checking his GPS he marked his location on his device and moved into the forest slipping between the trees with hardly a sound. Everything was in hues of green, it was enough for him to move through the woods silently. Ten minutes he should be on the perimeter of the Marauders chapter house. From what info they could gather at any one time there were between four to twelve members present at any one time. Mike was in the operational mode now, he could see lights at a compound, and it looked like two buildings a house with a fairly large barn and a shed behind the house.
    Mike circled the perimeter completely crossing the road to check the other side out toward the front of the house and back again around the other side until he was to the rear of the barn. He could hear a whimpering coming from the barn, Mike had a bad feeling about this, but he was committed. Observing a bulkhead cellar door entrance to the basement of the barn, he listened for a full fifteen minutes. Other than the occasional whimper he heard nothing. Circling around to the side of the barn again to observe the house he could see shadows pass the lit windows a few times. Looking at the house it was an old farm style with wrap around porch with two floors and a steep roof on top of the second floor, maybe twenty eight hundred feet of floor space. Eight motorcycles were parked in front of the porch. He figured at least eight, probably a few more maybe with some girlfriends too. It’s a lot, he was concerned. Mike went back to the rear of the barn and listened for a few more minutes, with no sound he gently lifted the bulkhead cellar door and listened again, he then entered. Pitch dark darkness greeted him with just a little ambient light from outside the bulkhead his night vision goggles enabled him to see enough to see the interior. Four cages were built between support posts and sleeping in each cage, which was around eight by eight with maybe five feet of headroom were at least three girls to each. They had metal collars around there necks with a chain attached to the bars on either side.
    One of the girls whimpered out loud, recognizing the whimper he heard earlier. These F*&#k’s were human traffickers he concluded right away. A burning fury was building in him while starting to come up with a plan. Mike read and knew about human trafficking, but it was something removed from America, rationalizing like most people. He should have known better, being familiar with such things in the slums of the Middle East. In the past, Mike compartmentalize those things when he came home from deployment.
    Analyzing the situation, nothing has changed he could still follow the Plan. Backing out of the barn he checked the shed next. It was just a shed with equipment in it. Mike guessed even shit heads like these had to do yard work. Pulling a small gun out of his back pack and inserting a barrel then hooking up the CO2 cartridge and presto he had a dart gun with an accurate range of fifty feet in the hands of an expert, and no mistaken, Mike was an expert.
    The M-4 rifle with its suppressor hung from