A Place Worth Living

by B D Grant

I smile at her. “Anywhere I am.”

  She gives me a one-sided grin and tries to say something but it comes out as a weak cough. When the coughing stops she relaxes in my arms. She’s no longer struggling to breathe.

  The kids begin crying. I know she’s dead. I shake her a little hoping I’m mistaken. She wobbles like a doll in my arms. Her hair falls over her face.

  I want so badly to flip into D mode and kill anyone who had anything to do with Anne’s hurting and not feeling like she was loved. She deserved so much better.

  “Miss Anne,” one of the kids calls out. I look up. The little girl with red hair is moving closer, trying to look at her.

  Glensy steps between us. “We need to go,” he tells me.

  “I can carry her.”

  I feel Glensy’s big hand on my shoulder. “Look, Boston’s downstairs. He’s hurt. One of us will have to help him walk. If you and I both have our arms full who will be the gunner if we run into more… people?”

  Reluctantly I release Anne, but not before kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back for you.”

  We get downstairs and Glensy calls out to Boston letting him know it’s us coming out of the stairwell. Boston’s posted up in the room across from the staircase. He’s sitting at a desk directly facing the door. He’s right-handed but the rifle he has is in his left hand. He’s using the desk to prop up the gun. A makeshift bandage is tied on his right shoulder with a belt knotted over it to keep it in place. He sets the gun on its side and grabs its shoulder strap, pulling it across his back.

  “You should see the other guy,” he tells me with a pale smirk. I help him up as he extends his left hand to me for support.

  I see legs peeking out from behind a group of overturned desks farther in the room. It looks to be a man, facedown in a pool of blood. “At least you got him. Ours got away,” I tell him.

  Boston smiles at Glensy behind me. “Glensy tagged him actually. It was the least he could do.” Once standing, he takes his gun off his back, tests out holding it in his left hand. He starts walking. He has a limp and his left pant leg has a rip in it exposing a bloody gash. Noticing me checking his leg out he tells me, “I got shot blocking the big ape.”

  Together we walk out the room. Glensy is making his way down the hall toward the exit with the kids behind him. “You weren’t blocking me,” he says to Boston. “You were being impatient and refused to listen when I told you to wait before going for the stairs.”

  Boston falters a little but doesn’t fall. He’s lost a good bit of blood judging by his pale complexion. By the looks of things he’ll be ready to pass out soon. “Here,” I take his rifle and place the strap over his shoulder for him so he can let it go. How I drape it across him he can grab it quick if necessary. I put his good arm securely over my shoulder.

  “You walked into those bullets,” Glensy finishes.

  Boston doesn’t agree. “He got in one lucky shot before I dodged the second.”

  “You didn’t completely dodge it,” Glensy says.

  Boston glances at his leg saying, “I’m not going to argue with you. You got those kids out okay and that’s all that matters.” He leans in a little closer to me, whispering, “That’s Nikki’s sister.” He’s talking about the red-haired girl.

  “Yeah, I guessed that by the hair.”

  We get to the exit. Glensy checks outside before we join him.

  “No sign of Anne?” Boston asks hesitantly.

  I look at the kids. The red-haired girl is putting on a brave face, consoling the smaller boy by wiping the giant tears from his cheeks. “Anne was protecting them when I got up there. I wasn’t able to protect her.”

  Glensy gives the all clear and we head out of the building.

  His hand squeezes my shoulder. “Man, don’t say that,” he says. “If you wouldn’t have insisted on coming here for Anne then those two little kids would’ve lost their lives too.”

  We get away from the building as fast as we can. The little boy’s crying is getting louder. The red-haired girl pulls him into a one-armed hug as Glensy shushes him. Boston’s putting more weight on me. Any minute now the little boy is going to loose it and start screaming for his mommy with us in the wide open.

  “We’ve got to get somewhere with some coverage,” Glensy growls at me. I adjust Boston some so he has more of my shoulders to hold onto. I do this more so that Glensy can see how much Boston is using me to stay upright.

  I look at Glensy. “What do you suggest?”

  “We get to those trees over there.” Motioning to the trees and shrubbery ahead of us. “Then one of us finds a golf cart or something for transport.” Boston and I nod. We move out with Glensy in the lead, the kids behind him, and Boston and I at the rear.

  We’re almost to the trees when the sound of gunshots goes off in the distance. We are moving in the direction it is coming from. I point in the direction of the woods behind the study center where I think the shots came from. Boston nods in agreement. We move faster getting to the first tree and cluster of bushes. There’s a bench beneath it that I let Boston take a break on.

  “Freeze! We have you surrounded!”

  “Crap,” Boston says, frantically reaching for his gun.

  17

  Delta squad, Part One

  Bryant, Ben, and Tony are inside the front doors of the building as gunfire continues from the woods in both directions. Tony is shooting out of one side of the doors with Ben doing the same on the other side. Bryant takes turns switching out with them when they need to reload.

  Tony’s almost out of bullets. He calls for Bryant to take his place but he doesn’t come up and tap him on the back like he has been to switch out. He empties the magazine to hear Ben isn’t shooting either. Tony sits back from the front door when something small and hard pushes against the side of his head.

  “Steady,” says the man holding the gun to his head. “Gun on the floor.”

  Bryant and Ben are already on their knees facing another man. Both of them are unarmed. Tony lowers his weapon to the floor as the man instructed watching the man in front of Bryant and Ben. Tony is forced to kneel next to the other two after taking his helmet off.

  “Don’t tell them anything,” Tony instructs the other two.

  “Duh,” Ben mumbles from the other side of Bryant.

  “Looks like we got here the three stooges,” the man in front of Ben tells the other.

  The other man is carefully watching from a safe distance out of the front doors at the gunfight that’s still going on outside. He sees someone lean out from behind a van, returning fire at the woods. Blonde hair spills out over one shoulder under the helmet. He turns around to inform the other, “There’s another one by the van they came in on, a female.”

  “She’s not important,” he tells him. He looks over his three captives. “Which one of you is Dillon Weston?”

  “Don’t know him,” Tony says. Both of the men are Dynamar. They won’t know if he’s lying or not. The man closest to Tony flips his gun around and slams the rifle’s stock into Tony’s stomach. Tony doubles over.

  “Dillon Weston come forward and the others get to go free.”

  None of them answer. Tony straightens. The gun is directed to Bryant’s head.

  “Don’t,” Ben pleads. “I’m Dillon Weston.”

  The one that doesn’t have a gun to Bryant’s head makes Ben stand up. “Right size.”

  “Where were you born?” the other asks.

  Ben’s silent. Tony stands up answering, “Singer, Louisiana.”

  Tony looks at Ben, “How long have we been friends and you don’t know that? I talk about it all the time.”

  The men turn their attentions to Tony. “You’re Weston?”

  “I am.”

  “Is he?” They ask Ben and Bryant. Ben nods. Bryant takes longer, looking between Tony and the man holding the rifle to his head. Ultimately, he does the same. “Okay than.” The one in front of Bryant turns his rifle to point at Tony’s head.


  Tony throws his hands in his air pleading, “Wait a se…” But it’s too late. One shot to the head.

  “No!” Bryant screams.

  The shooter lowers his head so his chin is to his shirt saying, “Weston’s out of the picture.”

  Ben charges the man in front of him knocking him to the ground. The shooter swings the end of his rifle toward Bryant but Bryant’s expecting this. Bryant’s on him before his rifle can find its next bull’s-eye.

  As Bryant struggles against the shooter, the man takes a hand from the rifle and reaches for his belt. “Whatcha got there?” Bryant asks blocking his hand from making its destination to the large hunting knife. Bryant pushes him to the nearest wall using his body weight to pin the man’s loose hand against the wall. Bryant maintains a strong hold on the rifle with one hand as the man strains to maintain control over his weapon. Bryant grabs the knife from the man’s belt. The man feels Bryant at his belt. He releases the rifle trying to stop Bryant but he’s too late. Bryant also lets go of the rifle. It clatters to the ground. Bryant uses both hands to plunge the knife into the shooter’s ribs. With a knife in his chest he makes a weak attempt to wrap his hands around Bryant’s neck. Bryant pulls the knife free. The shooter slides to the ground clasping at his wound.

  Dillon runs in with Taylor at his heels. “Drop it!” Dillon yells at the man still fighting Ben. Ben shoves away from him giving Dillon a clear shot. Realizing he’s now outnumbered and outgunned, the man drops his rifle all fight in him gone. Ben goes over to retrieve their rifles where the men kicked them out of the way.

  Dillon begins questioning him.

  The man ignores Dillon’s questions looking him over, head to toe. “What’s your name?” he asks Dillon.

  “Don’t answer him,” Bryant warns leaning over the stabbed man. They watch curiously as Bryant opens the man’s shirt. The man tries in vain to slap away Bryant’s hands. Bryant pulls a small, flesh-colored microphone from the inside collar and tosses it the ground. “They’re wired.” He smashes it to bits with his boot then kicks the bits toward the front door. Ben does the same thing with the other’s microphone. The man looks away from Dillon to sneer at Ben. Ben points the gun at his left temple. He shuts up and glares over at Dillon.

  “Looky here,” Ben leans toward the man’s head to dig in his ear. The others look on in disgust. He pulls something out. “They got ear bugs too.” He tosses it to Bryant.

  Bryant looks it over. “Fancy.” He throws it out the door.

  Dillon questions Ben’s captive again. “Who are you working for? Who were you communicating with?” The man stares at the ground in front of him refusing to answer.

  Ben taps the captive’s temple with the end of his rifle. “Who told you to kill Weston? How did you know he would be in the last vehicle?”

  Dillon remains silent as Ben repeats his questions.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Ben says stepping around the man to get right in his face. Ben aims right above the eyes at the same spot where Tony was shot. “Any last words?”

  That’s all it takes to get the man to acknowledge them. With a sneer he says, “You aren’t going to…” Ben shoots.

  “What am I not going to do?” Ben asks the man’s body.

  Bryant watches the shooter enjoying the fact that he got to witness his partner die just as they had to watch Tony’s demise. “You can speak up or end up like your friend. Why Weston?”

  “I only did what I was told,” he says quietly.

  “Who told you?”

  The man pushes the back of his head hard against the wall he’s popped up on. “You aren’t getting anymore from me.”

  “You sure about that?” Ben asks walking over. Ben unloads a bullet to the man’s foot. Bryant smiles at Ben’s work.

  “Ben!” Dillon snaps.

  “What?” Ben snaps back, “He killed Tony!” Dillon’s chest falls a little as he looks at his dead comrade.

  “Tony?” The man hisses. His injured foot is curled up to him now.

  Bryant squats down. “That’s right. Dillon Weston is alive and well. You killed the wrong guy. You failed,” Bryant tilts his head to one side, “ and now you’re going to die.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says having a hard time talking, “None of you are going to make it out of here.”

  Ben looks at Bryant who stands. “Head shot?” Ben asks him.

  Bryant shakes his head. “Nah, I say let him bleed out.”

  Dillon looks over his shoulder at the youngest member of the group. “You okay?”

  Part Two, T

  I go the wall closest to me, away from the guys. I have to use my hand to help hold me up as I lose my breakfast on the floor.

  “Come one, Bryant. She isn’t enjoying this. Hurry it up.”

  “Fine,” Bryant says. He fires a tranquilizer in the shooter’s other foot. He shoots him too far away from the heart for the tranquilizer to take effect quickly like it’s intended. Ben grins at the still conscious shooter.

  There’s so much blood on the ground in the entry way there’s no way to look away from it. It’s beautiful in its ghastliness. I must really be sick. The smell of it covers me like a wool bodysuit during the summer. I’m covered in sweat. More of my breakfast is climbing my throat. The only cool part of my body is the palm of my hand. I place it on my neck but it doesn’t help.

  While Dillon and I were outside he got in a bind when he made a run for it to the large, brick staircase at the front of the school. From what I could see behind the van he was having issues reloading. I covered him while he fought his weapon. I managed to take out the last sniper that Tony, Bryant, and Ben couldn’t. The sniper was so far away that I didn’t have to witness his wounds. Seeing Tony in this state I should be happy I’m only sick to my stomach and not passed out on the hard floor.

  “Tranquilizers are only for upper arms or legs,” Dillon informs Bryant.

  Bryant continues watching the man against the wall. “I know. He needed to suffer some more is all.” The man’s eyes slowly shut.

  I swallow the best I can and take a deep breath through my mouth muting the smell. I rejoin Dillon, Bryant, and Ben. “Won’t he wake up when the tranquilizer wears off?” I ask.

  Ben mumbles, “He’ll be out of blood before then.”

  18

  K. Reunion

  We can’t see the man who told us to freeze or anyone else for that matter but there is plenty of places to keep them hidden. The man demands that we drop our guns. His voice is coming from a larger group of trees just ahead of us. The bushes and undergrowth are much thicker over there making it a perfect spot to have the drop on any passerby.

  Glensy and I keep our weapons raised in the direction of his voice. I push the kids behind me. I can see Boston out the corner of my eye trying to steady his gun in the direction of the trees also.

  “Drop your weapons. No one has to get hurt.”

  “Bull,” Boston calls out. I look around. There are woods to our right that could be hiding more. Glensy and I are the only ones capable of putting up much of a fight and with nothing to block us from them we won’t last two minutes. We should’ve taken bulletproof vests off the bodies scattered over the grounds that we passed.

  “We just want to get these kids out of here safely,” I call out, lowering my gun slightly to show them I mean it.

  “What’s your name, son?” The voice asks.

  “Micheal Edwards.”

  Glensy looks quickly over his shoulder at me either because he’s never heard my first name before or he’s wondering why I’m having a conversation with the people that are about to kill us. Either way he turns back to the trees as someone carefully moves forward. He’s taller than me, definitely a Dynamar. The camouflage gear he has on from head to toe tells me he’s one of the people invading the school.

  “Kelly?” The man calls. He walks closer putting his rifle on his back. He stops, seeing that Glensy’s aiming at his chest. He raises his hands up, sho
wing us that he means no harm and slowly takes off his military-grade helmet.

  I step closer, not believing my eyes. “You? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here for you.”

  The last person I would expect to show up out here is standing in front of me. No, he isn’t even the last person I would expect out here. I try remembering his name. “Officer Lanton?” He smiles at me.

  “You know him?” Boston asks me.

  “I’m the one who sent him here,” Lanton answers.

  Him answering gives me time to collect myself. “Wait, you’re here for me?”

  He shrugs, looking around the woods getting his rifle off his back and ready to go. “I figured the least I could do was get you out of this mess since I’m the reason you were put in it. Unless you want to stay,” he jokes.

  I’m not even close to being in the joking mood. “Get us out of here.”

  “We have vehicles in front of the North building,” Lanton says pointing in the direction of the woods that separate us from the Welcome Center. Lanton looks at Boston. “Our meet-up spot has medical for your friend.” Boston’s bleeding through his bandage and the hint of pink in his cheeks is completely gone.

  “Okay,” we all agree.

  At Lanton’s instruction, Lanton leads with Glensy helping Boston, the kids are in the middle, and I bring up the rear. At first I’m a bit jealous he wanted Glensy up front with him and not me. Then, it dawns on me that he must have more faith in me to watch his back. Lanton confirms my line of thinking by constantly glancing over at Glensy. Glensy’s a big guy; I don’t blame Lanton for being cautious. It would be easier for Glensy to shoot him in the back.

  We get to the clearing and I scan the woods behind us diligently as we carefully move out of the concealment of the trees. The kids are doing good moving quick to the Welcome Center. As instructed they’re not letting go of each other’s hand. We’re in the clearing behind the Welcome Center when we hear gunshots coming from the front of the building. We run for the back of the building. Glensy carries Boston despite Boston’s grunting protests. I do my best to grab both kids with one arm, and hold my gun with the other. Suddenly Lanton is beside me. “Go, go, go,” he insists. He pushes me toward the building and covers us until I have safely made it with the kids.