by Brian Shea
The large bald man looked at her for a split second. He was momentarily caught off guard, but the knife was still moving. She pulled the trigger. The loud bang was deafening in the silence of the small apartment.
Shooting had always been an area of difficulty during her father’s training. The adrenaline dump had made her hands moist with sweat. The recoil knocked the gun out of her two-handed grip. She didn’t know if she’d hit the target. The muzzle flash in the darkness temporarily blinded her, causing her to lose sight of the dropped gun on the floor.
Cain struck down hard with the knife, but the scream and gunshot had redirected its aim. The sleeping man, who was no longer sleeping, grunted and spun away. The movement jerked the knife out of Cain’s hand. His focus lost as a searing pain radiated from the left side of his neck. Involuntarily, he grabbed at it with his right hand. Like a reaction to a bee sting. His hand came away wet. He found the hole in his trapezius muscle near his neckline. Mentally, he triaged his wound. He’d live. His mind cleared, and he quickly turned his attention to the man on the ground.
The blade was still inside him. It was bad. Who fired a shot? Where was his gun? Nick’s mind raced to comprehend the whirlwind of chaos that had just befallen him. It felt like a dream until the knife.
He saw the large man’s bald head shimmer in the muted light of the moon. He looked deranged. The left side of the man’s off-white button-down shirt was covered in blood. The large bald man moved quickly. Faster than Nick.
The bald man’s big fist struck hard into Nick’s nose, just as he got himself to his knees. The blow landed with a dizzying effect. Nick was on all fours now, flickering in and out of consciousness. He shook his head, trying to clear his head and get himself into the fight. A hard impact across the back of Nick’s neck sent him face-down into the carpet, burying the knife deeper into his side. The pain kept him from blacking out, but only barely.
A blur of movement shot by the couch, nearly eclipsed by the bald man’s frame. The large man straddled him, and his impressive weight forced the air out of Nick’s lungs. The pressure of the man’s grip was unbearable. Nick clawed at the fingers that were coiled around his throat, squeezing relentlessly. His energy to fight left him as the blood poured from his wound, made worse from the lack of oxygen created by his neck’s constriction. Several loud bangs rang out as Nick’s vision failed and he slipped into darkness.
31
“When you make a decision to do something, there is no hesitation, huh?” Izzy said, rhetorically.
“Kind of my thing. My wife has a love-hate relationship with it. Saves the hemming and hawing, but sometimes the quick decision leaves us spinning,” Declan said, accelerating the rental car, a white Camry, around the commuters in the middle lane.
Declan thought back about his decision with the bank. In hindsight, he wished he’d come up with a better alternative. It was hard to put himself back into that desperate state of mind now that he’d come out of their financial slump. At the time, it seemed hopeless. He had long since surrendered to the guilt of his conscience. And he hoped that he came up with an acceptable way of atoning.
“If you keep driving like this, we’ll make great time,” Izzy said, peering at the speedometer.
They’d been driving for a few hours and had already crossed over the border of Connecticut.
“We’re going to drive straight through, so you might want to get some rest now. I’m going to be tapping you in before you know it,” Declan said, smiling.
“I know he sounded like he needed us, but what’s the urgency?” Izzy asked.
“That gut feeling. I can’t quite place it, but whatever he’s dealing with, I figure the sooner we get there. the better off he’ll be,” Declan said.
“I learned to trust your gut instinct.” Izzy said, chuckling.
She thought back to Declan’s uncanny ability to get a handle on the terrorist attacks last Fall. Then she added, “It feels strange to be making a trip like this again.”
“I’m glad you said that. The hairs on the back of my neck have been standing on end since we left,” Declan said.
Expelling the words caused his shoulders to slump. A burden lifted.
Izzy pulled the lever on the side of her seat and reclined. She stretched and turned to her side, exposing a tribal tattoo on her lower back. Declan caught a glimpse of the artwork and smiled. He knew Izzy well enough to know that she had a wild side, but seeing the ink removed any trace of doubt.
Lane markers zipped by as he refocused his eyes to the road ahead and settled into the drive. For some reason, he felt that the clock was ticking, but to what end he had no idea.
32
The air had cooled. No humidity lingered. Even with those two factors, Mouse was drenched in sweat. She’d been alternating between running and walking for the last hour or so. She saw a lighted display under a bank sign. 1:07 am and 62 degrees.
Mouse stopped, figuring that she’d created enough distance from the apartment where the bald man had come for her. She reached into her backpack, now slightly lighter without the gun, and pulled out a plastic water bottle. She sipped, controlling her desire to guzzle the tepid water. She needed to conserve it until she got to her destination. The problem was she didn’t have a clue as to where she was.
She saw a sign for the interstate and moved in that direction. She skirted along side streets to avoid the bald man or anyone else who may be looking for her. A girl walking alone at night might draw attention. But the streets were deserted for the most part.
The bright yellow from the Shell Gas Station’s illuminated seashell caught her attention, and she crossed West University Avenue, heading for the store. There were a few cars parked in front and one at the pumps. Mouse passed by and entered into the air-conditioning of the store. It was funny to see the woman behind the register wearing a sweater, but it was definitely cold inside. The little girl’s arms prickled with goosebumps as she navigated the aisles. She took the opportunity to stock up for the next leg of her journey, grabbing Gatorade and beef jerky.
She walked to the counter and sized up the large Hispanic woman at the register. Mouse debated on speaking in Spanish but didn’t. She thought English would make her seem American and draw less suspicion.
“Well hello, little one,” the clerk said.
She had no hint of an accent, confirming that English would be the best choice for this conversation.
“Hi there,” Mouse replied, in a diminutive manner.
“You’re out late tonight,” the large woman said.
“I know. I messed up. I got in a fight with my mom,” Mouse said, looking down and away. She wanted to give the impression of a troubled teenager.
“How bad?” the clerk asked.
“It’s my fault. I said some really mean things and then I ran away,” Mouse said, keeping up her act. She continued before the woman could speak, “I just want to go back home, but I don’t have a ride. Would you be able to call me a cab?”
“I could, but maybe it’s better that I call the police,” the woman said.
She didn’t say this in a threatening manner. More so in the form of a question. As if she were asking the girl for her opinion or permission.
“Please don’t! That will only make it worse.” Mouse turned on the waterworks and sobbed, generating tears for effect.
“Don’t cry, little one,” the large clerk said.
It was working. The woman had bought the act.
“Please,” Mouse pleaded, softly.
“Okay. Where do you live?” the woman asked. Mouse looked at her with distrust and the woman registered this and responded, “It’s not for the police. It’s for the cab company. They will need to know where they’re driving to.”
“Austin. Downtown area,” Mouse said, casting her eyes downward again.
“Well you did make it pretty far in your journey tonight,” the woman said, sounding impressed.
“Where am I?” Mouse asked, gathering the info
in the hopes that she could get a newspaper tomorrow and would open it to find an article about a dead bald man in an apartment shooting.
“You’re in Georgetown. About fifteen miles north of Austin. Let me see what I can do for you,” the woman said, sweetly.
“Thank you,” Mouse replied.
“How about an Uber? They are usually quicker than any cab company these days,” the woman said, smiling.
“What’s an Uber?” Mouse asked. It was a funny word and she’d never heard of it before.
“It’s like a cab, but people use their own cars. Don’t worry, it’s safe,” The woman said and then continued, “I use it all the time. Tell you what. I will get you an Uber. I’ll put it on my account. You save your money.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Mouse said.
The woman punched at the screen on her phone and then said, “See, how easy is that?”
The woman turned the screen toward Mouse and she watched as the computerized map showed a car icon moving toward a blue dot.
“That’s us. And that’s your driver. He’ll be here in less than three minutes. Pretty cool, huh?” The woman was proud of this technology.
“Very cool,” Mouse said.
She was happy to be getting out of the city with the bald man. She’d heard the additional gunshots as she fled through the parking lot and hoped that he was now a dead bald man.
But if there was one thing Mouse’s fifteen years of life had taught her, it was that hopes and wishes are the things of fairy tales.
33
It was overcast, but the morning’s light seemed bright as it passed through the windshield, pulling Izzy from her sleep. Her neck was sore from the awkward position she’d taken during the night. She looked at the clock. 6:43 am. Then she looked over at Declan. His eyes were focused on the road but she could tell he was struggling against exhaustion. His shoulders were hunched forward and he was holding onto the steering wheel as if he was drowning and it was a life preserver.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Izzy asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“I got my second wind in the middle of the night. I figured I’d push on and let you rest. You can take over at the next exit I see with a gas station. We need to fill up anyway,” Declan said. Fatigue gave his words a slight slur.
“I need a cup of coffee to get my blood pumping,” Izzy said with a yawn, bringing the seat into an upright position. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not counting the power nap I took before I picked you up? Roughly twenty-eight hours.”
“Holy crap! You must be seeing double,” Izzy said.
“Nah, that was hours ago. I’m seeing triple now,” Declan laughed.
“I’m going to reach out to Nick before I take over the drive. I think it’s best we don’t surprise him,” Izzy said.
“Okay. Maybe just feel him out a bit before you tell him we’re on our way. I don’t want him to flip out before we get a chance to have a face-to-face with him,” Declan said.
The phone rang twice and then clicked. The cellular acknowledgment that the call had connected.
“Hello,” the voice on the other end said.
“Who’s this?” Izzy asked. Her tone was a blend of confusion and anger at hearing a female’s voice on the other end of Nick’s line.
“I apologize. I’m Anaya, a friend of Nick’s.”
“Where’s Nick?” Izzy asked. The sudden wave of jealousy that overcame Izzy kept her from being any less direct.
“He’s right here,” Anaya said softly and then continued, “He’s…”
“Well, put him on the phone,” Izzy interrupted.
“I can’t. He’s unconscious.”
“What do you mean unconscious?” Izzy asked.
“Who may I ask is calling?” Anaya asked. Her voice strengthened in tone.
“Izzy Martinez, FBI,” Izzy said, curtly.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Agent Martinez. I didn’t know that you were with the Bureau,” Anaya said, see-sawing back to a softer inflection.
“Tell me what’s going on with Nick.” Izzy did not bother to minimize her official title for this woman. For some reason, she liked that Anaya had felt the need to address her as Agent.
“We were attacked last night. Nick took the worst of it. He came out of surgery about an hour ago, but he hasn’t woken yet. The doctor was just in and said Nick’s in stable condition,” Anaya said.
“Attacked? By whom? Surgery? I need details!” Izzy said, angrily.
She was angered at hearing that Nick was injured, but more so that some random woman was by his side instead of her.
“We were protecting a young victim. Well, correction, Nick was doing the protecting. I’m the CPS caseworker assigned to the girl. Anyway, Nick decided that the girl would be safer at his place,” Anaya said.
“What? Nick brought a victim to his home?” Izzy interrupted, the frustration evident in her voice.
“Yes. I know it’s not normal procedure, but this is not a typical situation,” Anaya said.
“Go on,” Izzy prodded.
“A man came for the girl during the night. Nick was stabbed and beaten,” Anaya said. Her voice trembled as she retold the violent encounter.
“Stabbed? How bad?” Izzy asked, dropping the jealous frustration from her voice. A genuine concern for Nick was the only thing that could be heard in the questions.
“The knife wound was just above the left hip. It’s bad. I thought he was dead. There was so much blood,” Anaya mumbled the last part, trailing off in thought.
“Jesus,” Izzy whispered.
Izzy looked over at Declan. He must have felt her gaze because he turned. She felt the color drain from her skin and assumed from the former soldier’s clenched jaw that he’d been able to gather from the one side of the conversation that things were worse than they’d thought. The engine roared as Declan urged the Camry forward.
“The doctor said he was lucky. He said the blade missed the kidney, but it went deep. Thankfully, it didn’t exit out the back. The doctor said that might’ve been much worse. Something about it being much easier to pack a wound with one hole,” Anaya said, pausing as she staved off the wooziness created by the recall.
She’d been the one to press the dishrags hard against Nick’s side. The memory of their wetness sickened her. The stains on her unchanged clothes were a reminder of the volume of blood spilled.
“Are you going to stay with him?” Izzy asked.
“Yes. Unless they find the girl. Then I’d have to help on that end,” Anaya said.
“We’re on our way, just coming up on Knoxville. We should be there by ten tonight,” Izzy said, looking at Declan for confirmation of the timeline.
He nodded in response without taking his eyes off the road.
“I’ll call you back at this number if something changes,” Anaya said.
“Thank you,” Izzy said. She then added, “What happened to the asshole that stabbed Nick?”
“I shot at him and he ran away,” Anaya said.
“Shot at him? Did you hit him?” Izzy asked. She realized that her tone was more accusatory than intended but didn’t apologize for it.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never fired a gun before. I pulled the trigger until it was empty. He ran out the door. There was so much blood. I’m not sure if it was from him or Nick,” Anaya said.
“Regardless, it sounds like if you hadn’t been there then Nick would be dead,” Izzy said.
“I really don’t want to think about it,” Anaya said
“Who is he working with on this, besides you?” Izzy asked.
“Detective Jones from APD,” Anaya said.
“Send his contact info to me,” Izzy requested.
“I will. He’s out looking for the girl as we speak,” Anaya said.
“She’s gone?” Izzy asked.
“Yes.”
Anaya did not add anything more. The implication of the girl being outside of the protection of law en
forcement didn’t bode well for her survival. And the thought of it saddened her deeply.
“Keep me posted. If he wakes up, tell him that I’m on my way and that Declan is with me,” Izzy said.
She clicked the end button and the image of Nick’s chat head disappeared from her screen. She closed her eyes and released this new-found tension, exhaling slowly.
“That didn’t sound good,” Declan said, stating the obvious.
“Well, you couldn’t be more right,” Izzy said, pausing for effect before she continued. “Nick needs our help.”
The hum of the vent and the vibrations of the Greyhound bus lulled Mouse to sleep. Her eyes would pop open anytime it slowed or stopped. She would scan for threats and then fade out. The bus was approaching Dallas, where she would switch to another bus. The itinerary acquired for her by the homeless man showed that there would be a total of four transfers before she reached the bus’s final destination of Saginaw, Michigan.
It was not restful sleep but, with every rotation of the wheels, she was farther away from the men who hunted her. Sitting in the back of the bus allowed for her to see the scattered heads of the other passengers. Mouse folded her backpack into a pillow and positioned it between her and the bus’s frame.
She closed her eyes and tried to envision what Lake Huron would look like. The starting point for her new life.
34
Pain was not a new sensation and its presence now was not unwelcome. He’d long ago severed the emotional connection with it. He was aware of his damaged body but was able to compartmentalize. Evaluating his injuries, Cain slid his right hand from one to the next. The hole near his neck was still a concern, but he also had located two more places where he was struck during the second burst of gunfire.