by Leanne Davis
He had to wait several more long moments. Seeing the shooter approaching him, it was all Jacob could do to resist jumping out at him and trying to disarm him forcibly. But there was not too much space between them and Jacob sensed he’d be shot dead in the head or heart at such a short distance. That would not do. He had to wait for a few moments longer, which turned out to be the longest of his life. He was so primed. Ready. Excited even. Adrenaline pumped his blood to boiling. Closer. Closer. A bit more. And then, BAM! Jacob would have the advantage to make his move and spring forward, landing on him and taking him down.
In a split second, Jacob expected the shooter to turn at hearing any noise, or even the subtle disturbance of energy before he shot Jacob point blank as he flew through the air. Once Jacob left his flimsy cover behind the cabinet, he’d be fair game and an easy target. But airborne? He’d have no cover and no recourse.
But there was no choice now either. He couldn’t just huddle silently and hope for the best. Not with people screaming, dying, and the baby crying.
The baby.
Jacob decided it was him or the baby. Well, after all the sins of his youth, maybe this was his rightful punishment or perhaps his very last chance for redemption.
He crouched on his feet, testing his knees by springing up and down. He had to be as light on his feet as possible. Using the counter above him to launch himself, he had to rely on speed, strength, power, and timing, but mostly, luck.
Fuck! When was luck ever on his side? But that was mostly because of his own doing.
The shooter was finally within range and he turned, shooting toward the left side of the room. Jacob pulled himself up with the counter and sprang off his feet. After a few steps, he ascended, flinging his entire body into the air. Having never played football, he desperately wished he knew one or two tackling positions.
The shooter sensed him before he made contact. He looked shocked as he tried to swing his gun toward Jacob, but his stupid, vacant face was no match for Jacob. Jacob pressed his shoulder right into the center of the man’s chest and they both fell to the floor. The shooter received the impact, bearing the brunt of Jacob’s body weight as well as his velocity and momentum.
Scrambling to sit up, he straddled the man, holding him down with a tight grip on his throat and twisting his arm until the gun fell.
He glanced in astonishment when he saw someone scrambling toward them. It was a crying woman half crawling, as she dragged herself closer to him. Her long, dark hair was a tangled mess, and it flopped like a napkin over her face. Tears falling down her cheeks, she somehow managed to lumber forward.
Blood trailed behind her.
It was brighter on her front side, like spilled paint, streaking her white sweater and blue jeans. Jacob couldn’t see where she was shot, but then again, neither could she. What was she doing? And why was she coming toward the gunman?
But all at once he realized what was happening. She scrambled toward the gun and Jacob knew she wanted to end the situation. She clutched it tightly and kept crying. She looked so out of it as she stared straight ahead with telltale horror. The sheer distress she displayed would have been like seeing your own limb amputated. Jacob pressed much harder on the shooter’s throat, wishing he could crush his trachea and end the morbid scene. Turn the man into history. Dead. Finished. Save the public court costs. Save the prison budget the cost of his food and medicine and housing. Calling him an animal was too kind. He was a mass murderer.
Dropping his head, Jacob forced himself to lessen his grip. No one could have stopped him. He could do it and he was primed and ready and wildly in tune to the present moment. This spectacular moment. Jacob was ready and willing to kill the man he saw before him. Instead of becoming hysterical, he felt the opposite. Every single moment made his intentions even clearer. He saw every detail, every color of clothing and objects around him. He felt stronger, bolder, and capable. Fully engaged in the moment, more than at any time he’d ever experienced in his past, the adrenaline pumped furiously through him. Without a thought of safety or himself, he could only focus on stopping this lethal aberration.
Jacob watched the man’s eyes bulge as he squirmed under him. The ultimate vanquisher, Jacob lessened his grip. He released the man who turned on his side, gasping for breath like a landed fish. He curled up into a fetal position, still gasping and flailing. Jacob had no doubt he almost killed him.
He privately hoped there would be no punishment or divine retribution for doing that.
Jacob suddenly remembered the woman who was definitely in shock. He approached her, but she would not stop crying, and she verged on hysteria. He gently grasped her slim shoulders in his hands and used a soft voice to soothe her, crooning into her ear in his effort to squelch her panic. He feared she’d inadvertently pull the trigger in her grief and upset.
After a few seconds, his calm voice managed to penetrate whatever reality she had entered. He took the gun from her and quickly unloaded it, stuffing the bullets into his pocket. He glanced at his quarry who still lay gasping.
But the woman seemed to understand something was wrong with her. She definitely wasn’t well. Jacob stayed, gently reclining her when she became unconscious. He prayed over her lifeless body. He prayed that she would be allowed to rest in peace.
Carnage.
Jacob stared at her and his gut twisted. Blood streaked her face like tears. She had olive skin and dark hair. In a word, she was lovely but for the streak of brownish blood on her face. She also had it on her hands and her fashionable clothes. Shattered bits of the restaurant were everywhere. Broken glasses, shards of dishware, and a splintered wall. Jacob saw at least four people slumped over—completely lifeless—at least insofar as Jacob could quickly discern.
Jacob turned back to the shooter and pressed the gun hard against his temple. “If you move, talk, or make any attempt to stand, I will shoot your motherfucking head off and insist it was self-defense. So, do it. Give me the only reason I can give God with a free conscience. Because right now, I am trying to resist the most appealing urge to murder you this second. I would like to do that to you just as you murdered those innocent people who made the fateful mistake of going out to eat their fucking dinners.”
The man froze before he did a faceplant. Just like that, all his power, destruction, and villainy evaporated into air and he was back to the coward he most likely had been for his entire life.
Cries. Tears. Sobbing. Jacob understood and quickly sprang to his feet before grabbing his phone and dialing 911. He reported the shooter and insisted they needed ambulances, and lots of them.
The whole event happened in barely a span of five minutes.
To his relief, Jacob saw lights and sirens when a single sheriff’s patrol car skidded into the parking lot. They parked at an angle and jumped out to get inside the café quickly. Placing his hand on his gun while his female partner followed directly behind, the first officer entered the front doors and scanned the bloodbath. Their eyes grew as huge, just as Jacob assumed his own probably were.
Throwing his hands up, Jacob stood, and their eyes landed on him. “The shooter’s right here. Right over here.”
Jacob never left his side. He also still held the gun on him. The shooter didn’t move. He didn’t know the gun was empty. Stepping back, Jacob set the gun down at his feet. He carefully put his hands up to make sure they didn’t think he was the shooter or even an accomplice. The two cops moved in quickly to appropriate the scene. Drawing their weapons, they scanned the periphery before they approached Jacob, the shooter, and the woman.
“I tackled him and choked him until he let go of the gun. Then this woman right here came forward and seized the gun from him to disable him. She… well, I’m afraid she needs a little help. Now.”
Jacob’s voice didn’t shake, but his limbs started to. His body was physically reacting to the stress although it was fine until help arrived. Now that someone else held the guns and influence, Jacob’s body collapsed from nerves.
He slumped forward. “Sir, sir, are you hurt?” asked the officer.
“No, but thank you for asking. It’s just my nerves, I guess.”
The female cop kept her gun on the suspect while the other handcuffed him. In no time at all, thank God, other vehicles arrived with their lights and sirens blaring. Jacob leaned forward and tried to breathe deeply to calm his shaking. New voices, and so many unfamiliar faces began filling the establishment. More victims emerged from hiding and their cries and wails filled the space. Others assisted the injured. Paramedics rushed in, setting up a triage. After what felt like hours, a stretcher appeared beside the woman who originally helped him stop the murders and untimely deaths.
She was loaded onto the stretcher and her neck was immobilized.
The reality still hadn’t fully computed in his brain. There was no frame of reference to categorize or process the hideous occurrence. He did not know how to take it all in. His brain ignored the pools of blood that he saw all around him. The bodies were slumped over and lifeless. Dead. Only death and destruction surrounded him.
“Sir?”
A gentle voice entered his muddled head. “I think you saved a lot of lives today.”
Jacob looked up and his throat closed into a knot of emotions. He didn’t know that. All he noticed were the lost lives. And the grief. A screaming baby held by a woman while her mother still lay slumped forward, unresponsive to the child’s urgent cries.
“You need to go to the hospital. We want you to get checked out.”
He glanced up. Oh, crap. They were still addressing him, and he couldn’t pry his eyes from the cruel mourning and grief he observed. He stared up, unseeing. A blur of uniforms made all the cops look the same to him.
“Sir?”
He nodded, uncomprehending, and his body began to react. The clarity he exhibited during the chaos was lost in all the fog. He was unsure now. Unclear. Disbelieving.
“How many?”
He glanced at the man helping him up. The man’s dark gaze met his and they shared a look of deep, profound regret. “Eight. Eight have been confirmed dead so far. Two more are considered critical. So, the total might climb higher.”
“Eight.” Jacob repeated but his voice was hollow, almost unfeeling. Really? Eight? It seemed incomprehensible. That number would haunt him forever. The collage of graphic scenes, and all the horror and destruction, as well as the sounds and smells. Death and destruction were woven into the fabric of his cells, and his very being was affected. He would never be the same after this. He knew that all at once.
Eight. Eight people. Eight victims. Eight lives. Eight dead. But the affected families and friends would make it eight times that many.
“What about the woman? The one who took the gun?”
“She’s one of the critical patients.”
His heart dropped. Fuck! She was so young. So brave.
Shot.
Maybe dead.
Eight.
Why hadn’t he been shot instead of her? For years, he would not have cared. Why did he live? How could he survive nearly unscratched? Why the mother of the infant? Why would the young mother be sacrificed while a drug addict like Jacob Starr survived? What about the old man, Edgar? He conducted the choir at the local church. And he was a lovely, nice man. There was… shit! He saw Kelsey lying on the floor, her blood pooling under her. She’d been a fixture at the café since Jacob was a kid. A longtime waitress, and one of their best. The young man he saw alone in the corner who was reading when he walked in was also gone. He dropped below the table. Why? What rhyme or reason was there for any of this? What type of order? Why did the ones who died have to perish today? Why did the ones who lived get spared? He was lucky, he supposed, to come out of it unscathed, but now these memories would scar him permanently, like a bullet forever lodged in his heart. It made him ache and throb every time he moved. That bullet would be the extent of his horrible memories. He couldn’t imagine ever healing from those terrible images.
“Sir? Please come with us to the hospital.”
“Yes. Of course.” His body started to shake, and he thought he might puke. A delayed sense of reality was slowly washing over him. Maybe he wasn’t okay. Shock? Grief? All of it got mixed up and almost sent him to his knees.
But instead, he nodded, and stayed upright, urging his legs to carry him forward.
He could still walk out of this tragedy and he intended to do just that, if only for the honor and reverence of the patrons who did not.
Chapter Six
LUNA AWOKE TO A CHORUS OF VOICES. In particular, she could discern a most annoying, screechy voice because it was right beside her head. Her eyelids fluttered open. Fluorescent lighting. Paneled ceiling tiles. Hospital. Without turning her head, she instantly realized she was in a hospital room.
There was a shooting at the café. She recalled crawling on the floor. And lots of blood everywhere. People were falling. Someone was cradling a gun. All the images flashed through her mind in record speed like a casino card shuffling machine going through a deck of cards. She moaned as the memories pierced her brain. Not so much a physical pain, but an emotional one.
“Oh, there you are. How are you feeling, sweetie?”
Blinking, Luna turned her head only to be overwhelmed by a dizzy sensation. She saw a woman dressed in scrubs standing beside her bed, adjusting the IV drip on a stand beside her. The tube ran down from the fluid container and ended in the back of her hand. She had no memory of her arrival here, much less, the IV, the nurse, or the hospital room.
“Wha—what happened?”
The nurse released the IV. “Well, let’s start with an introduction, shall we? I’m Nurse Linda. You were involved in a random shooting. Your foot was broken, and you received several lacerations to your body. However, the worst cut was a deep gash over your left eye. Facial lacerations always make you bleed like a stuffed pig!”
Luna winced at the careless comparison. Nurse Linda had a high-pitched, but chipper tone that made Luna want to cover her ears with her hands. She sounded way too cheerful. Too oblivious. And worst of all, too fucking happy. Luna was injured in a mass shooting. After she witnessed blood-letting and gore and dead bodies lying all around her, the woman says that?
She broke her fucking foot? What? That’s all that happened to her? Was that why she couldn’t walk out of there on her own? She remembered seeing blood all over her.
“Wasn’t I shot too?”
“No. The ER docs cut off all your clothes, which were pretty saturated from what I heard. They believed you were shot but it turned out to be someone else’s blood. Probably the gentleman beside you. One of the witnesses said that. Several of them came here to get checked out, and some of them required minor treatment. The gossip mill is churning but no one seems capable of figuring out what happened. You broke your metatarsals and several phalanges. They monitored the bump on your head for any signs of concussion. The doctor concluded the state of shock you experienced kept you from feeling your broken foot. He said that kind of injury should have been so painful you wouldn’t dare move it, let alone do what you did.”
“Wait… What did I do?”
“You crawled toward the gunman and seized the gun from him. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes. But I just picked it up. I didn’t go to him when he still had it.”
“Honey, everyone who saw it says you and Jacob Starr were the heroes of the day. Together, you saved a dozen or more people. The gunman wasn’t done shooting and the cops hadn’t even heard about it until Jacob called 911. No one even knew it was happening. If you two hadn’t stopped it when you did—” The nurse visibly shuddered. “Who knows how much worse it would have been?”
The nurse left her, and Luna glanced down at herself. The covers were drawn up neatly, expertly tucked around her body. The white gown covered her up to her neck. Her right foot was elevated above her heart and she looked at the huge cast on it. It ended just below her knee.
&n
bsp; “See all the bouquets and flowers you’ve received? We’re still getting a flood of them. They’re all over the front of the café too, like an impromptu memorial, but I think it’s much nicer and more appreciated to send flowers to the survivors,” Nurse Linda rattled off when she returned.
Luna tried her best to comprehend the woman’s chatter. More information was needed. She was desperate for it. But it was so overwhelming. Flowers were everywhere. A shooting at the diner. A memorial. A gun. A broken foot. Jacob Starr?
“Wait. Jacob Starr? He was the guy that took the gunman down?”
“Lester Zandinsky. That’s the shooter’s name. Yes. Jacob Starr went after him and then you took away his gun.”
She shook her head, letting her shock and grief intermingle. Anxiety made her heart beat too fast, and her eyes filled with hot tears, blurring her vision. She filed the unremarkable name of the murderer into her memory bank. From now on, her standard and definition of true evil would be epitomized in Lester Zandinsky.
“A detective is waiting outside to question you. I’ll get the doctor first and then we can see about you talking to them.”
What? Luna was all but cross-eyed with annoyance at the perky woman. Too chipper. Too gossipy. Too slow. Too unsympathetic. Too blunt. Why didn’t she just lead with oh, by the way, the police want to interview you and a doctor should check you out first?
“Wait… how many victims… I mean, how many died?”
The woman stopped at the closed door. Luna had a private room. “Eight, honey. Eight so far have died.” At least she managed to drop a few octaves in her tone. “And Delia is still alive. She suffered a heart attack. Her daughter is taking her to a rehab facility near her home in Nevada as soon as she is cleared for medical transport.”
More to file and process. More to make sense out of.
Delia lived!
Eight died. Eight innocent people. Fucking eight lost souls. Whimpering, Luna flopped her head back down, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the ghastly images, but they refused to leave. She so easily pictured eight people all together, lined up in front of an executioner… and then falling over dead. It was so unconscionable.