Big Noise

by Jen Wright

  CHAPTER 34

  They awoke to dull thuds on the bunker door. Jo and Zoey looked at each other.

  "God, I wish we could see who that is," Zoey said.

  "It has to be Sandy and Ree. Don wouldn't knock on his own door. He'd be a fool to try and come back here."

  Jo got up and opened the door a crack. No one was there. She closed the door again, and they agreed that they would go out together to see who had arrived. Jo patted the gun in her zipped pocket before they peered out again. Seeing and hearing no one, they ventured out further. Jo suddenly sensed someone behind her in the bunker.

  Shit, I forgot about the tunnel.

  She turned to look and felt a shove that hurled her toward and into Zoey, who fell into a heap outside. Just as quickly, Jo felt someone grab her from behind and pull her back down the stairs.

  The door slammed shut. Such a solid, impenetrable door, and such a final, fatal sound.

  When Jo found her balance enough to look up, she was face to face with a large man. A shot of adrenalin surged through her entire body as she realized that this was Don. The abusive, crazy, hostage-taking Don.

  She could hear Zoey pounding and screaming.

  One thick door separated her from Zoey. She felt Don's eyes watching her think about that door. He took the butt of his gun and hit the hard, unyielding wood, yelling, "Shut up, or I'll kill her."

  That silenced Zoey. Don moved close to Jo and shoved the gun up under her chin. "Don't try anything, or you'll both die." She fought the urge to pull away from not only the gun but also his overpowering and disgusting smell.

  "Do you understand me?" he growled.

  "I understand." Jo had never been held at gunpoint, and she was shocked by how totally paralyzed she felt. One shot, and she would be dead. She wasn't anywhere near ready for dead. She willed herself to breathe.

  He slowly moved the gun away from her and pointed it in the direction of the woodstove. Next to it on the dog bed lay a man Jo assumed must be Frank. His face was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He shivered almost uncontrollably and winced as he tried to look up at her. His hands were tied behind his back.

  Poor guy, he's been led around like that for hours.

  As Don shifted the gun away from her, she resisted the urge to locate the Deputy's gun in her jacket pocket.

  Motionless and wary, she assessed her adversary. He looked boringly unexceptional to her. A bit tallish, brown hair, large build. Then she noticed his eyes. They were anything but average. Jo finally knew what the expression crazed eyes meant. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest, she wondered if he could see it.

  Frank broke the standoff, "Hey! Can I get these cuffs off? I can't feel my hands." Don aimed his steely stare at her as he reached into his pocket and tossed her a key.

  "Take care of him."

  She considered whether to obey his order. Well, I suppose if I'm of use to him, I'll stay alive.

  "I don't have medical training," she said.

  "You're a woman. Do what you do."

  Jo moved to Frank, who rolled on his side. Deep marks and several cuts from the cuffs scarred his wrists, and his hands looked ice cold.

  "Can you feel anything?" Jo asked, alarmed by the desperation she saw in his face.

  "No," he said.

  After she freed his hands, relief lit up his eyes. "Can you move your fingers?"

  "I'm not sure. I've been trying to move them the entire time."

  Jo helped him to take off his wet outer clothing and carefully examined him for other injuries before covering him with a blanket.

  "Put your hands under your armpits," she told him.

  Turning to Don, she said, "He should be seen by a doctor."

  "Why? What's wrong with him?"

  "I'm not sure about his hands. They look bad. He can't move them."

  "Feed him. Get him some water." He pointed at the kitchen area with his gun.

  Jo wordlessly searched the pantry to see what her options were. She found a two-burner gas campstove for cooking and several one-gallon water bottles. A five-gallon water container with a spout sat over a plastic tub, which served as a sink. She filled a cup and brought it to Frank.

  "Take small sips." She held the cup for him as he took several swallows.

  "Fix us something." Don barked the order at her.

  Jo found pasta and cans of spaghetti sauce. As she heated the meal, she pondered their fate. OK, Zoey's just outside the bunker. More help is on the way. Sandy and Ree will be back soon.

  Every molecule of Jo's being wanted to attack Don and overpower him. The thought of the gun in her zipped pocket comforted her, but she hoped that she would have a better chance to reach for it as Don became more used to her presence. She couldn't risk it yet.

  I suppose it isn't the first time a hostage has ever had to make dinner for her captor, she thought. Hell, that was Jean's whole marriage. Probably all abusive marriages. She was angry at how helpless she felt in this situation. Helpless was a new experience for her. Normally, when things got tough, she dealt with it.

  Don ate at the table while Jo fed Frank. He still didn't have full use of his hands, but he had stopped having to warm them under his armpits. He was able to move his fingers a bit, so Jo hoped that they were not permanently damaged.

  Jo sat down on the floor next to Frank in an attempt to become invisible to Don. He rocked back and forth and was holding his injured arm.

  That injury might give me a tactical advantage at some point, she thought. Suddenly, he banged his good hand on the table.

  "Get this mess cleaned up."

  It took quite a bit of Jo's composure not to tell him to go fuck himself. If she did get the chance to take him out, it would benefit her to have him see her as meek and scared.

  Jo still had her jacket on, and so far that hadn't bothered Don. Maybe he doesn't believe that a female could be a serious threat to him. Maybe I should shoot him now.

  Washing dishes without getting her sleeves wet would be difficult, but she opted to leave the coat on, banking that his sexist beliefs would keep him from thinking about what she might have in her pockets. As she pushed up her sleeves, she heard a snowmobile pull up outside. Don got up and started pacing.

  "No more intereference. This isn't going right," he muttered to himself. "I can do this. I'm not stupid. It's my responsibility. There has to be a witness."

  Suddenly Jo knew that she was the witness. I'm not the target. So maybe I'll get out of here in one piece. She stole a glance at Frank, who hadn't seemed to hear the comment.

  The sun was rising, and she was certain that neither Don nor Frank had slept at all during the night. Don looked and acted ragged. She didn't want to inflame his already agitated state, so she boiled water for dishes and started scrubbing. As she did this, she calmed down and thought logically about her predicament. She knew that Zoey, Sally, Ree, and Tanner were also working to figure this out.

  Don paced and alternately arranged things in the pantry before coming out to listen for activity. He spoke to himself in a low, monotonous voice. He comforted himself and dialogued about how, if he could only do what he needed to do, it would be all right. Again, she heard him say, "You are the audience. Bear witness," as he looked at her.

  Gingerly, she tugged at the zipper on her jacket pocket a little at a time. She had it partially open but stopped whenever Don came back out of the pantry to check on them.

  She made coffee in a percolator pot on top of the gas stove. The lights in the battery-powered lanterns had begun to dim, so she found two gas lanterns and lit them. Soon the rising sun would provide some light through the roof window.

  Jo suspected that she had become nearly invisible to Don as she made her way around the cabin doing "womanly" things. She was staying off Don's radar, and she planned to keep it that way. Her only plan at the moment was to get that zipper open all the way. And then she could use the gun.

  CHAPTER 35

  The snowmobile pulled up a h
alf hour after Jo was taken hostage. Zoey found some comfort, during that half hour wait, knowing that Jo was armed. That guy had no idea what he was in for.

  Zoey had made her way around to the tunnel opening but couldn't bring herself to attempt an entrance. She couldn't risk the unpredictable impact on Jo inside. Waiting felt like an eternity. Her parka had a hood, but she had to keep her hands in her pockets to keep them warm. Thank goodness she hadn't taken off her boots.

  As Tanner and the crew pulled up on a snowmobile and sled, she sprinted over to them. All of her words tumbled out at once, making no sense whatsoever. Sandy held up a hand and motioned for her to slow down. Then she put her hand on Zoey's back and said, "From the beginning. What's going on?"

  She told them what had happened.

  They all stared at Zoey in shock, and then Tanner spoke up. "Jo's in there?"

  She nodded, "With Don and Frank." She nodded again.

  "For how long?"

  "Half an hour," Zoey blurted, pushed by a sense of urgency. At the same time, she kept thinking, Why is this taking so long? We have to get her out of there. Let's go!

  After each quick response, she stood there waiting for the next question. She silently counted in her head as they tried to absorb all of the possible scenarios that could unfold in front of them. She stomped her foot, and suddenly they all seemed to focus in on her at the same time.

  "We have to do something.," she said in a tone both demanding and pleading.

  Ree enveloped her in a hug. "We will. Trust me, we will."

  She nodded at Sandy and guided Zoey over to the snowmobile. Zoey realized she was so tense that she could barely sit down. Ree encouraged her to take some deep breaths and talked to her in a soothing voice about how capable Jo was and how they would all figure this out together.

  Zoey started to sob. She felt so helpless. Ree held and patted Zoey until her crying jag had spent itself. Sandy and Tanner spent this time conferencing, and by the time Zoey had herself under control, they had agreed on a plan.

  It was a little before 7 a.m., and the sun was peeking above the horizon beyond the trees. Tanner and Sandy presented the plan in unison. They stood before the group with their hands on hips, "We wait."

  Zoey blinked and stared at them. "We what?" Shock washed over her. She had been waiting an eternity. This couldn't be right.

  "We have to do something! Jo's in there."

  "Think about it," Sandy offered. "If we storm the doors, we create a situation that we can't control and furthermore that we can't even see. It's too unpredictable. Even if we storm the bunker from both entrances, we have only one weapon — Tanner's. Exploring the tunnel leaves us vulnerable to being shot, or we could end up shooting an innocent hostage. Because our only weapon would have to be in the tunnel, that would leave whoever was at the other entrance basically unarmed. It's a no win. If we wait, we have some element of control." She stood waiting for Zoey to object. Zoey stared blankly back at her.

  "Help is on the way. It's light out. The snow has stopped. We're going to have a whole army out here looking for us in a couple of hours."

  "A couple of hours is a long time," Zoey insisted, her voice rising. The others stared at her as though expecting her to go berserk again.

  Internally, she thought, Don is unstable. No one can predict how he will react to anything. He's already shot one person. How is he responding to Jo? Her Jo, the Jo who never knew how to stay away from trouble. "Fuck!"

  They devised a plan to stake out the two entrances and to communicate movement with two radio clicks. The radios still had power, but for how long, no one knew. Jo had a radio inside with her, and they didn't want to risk unintentionally communicating something vital to Don.

  Ree and Zoey watched the tunnel, and Sandy and Tanner watched the main entrance. Once seated on a fallen log, Zoey took a good look at Ree. She had been up all night and had been snowshoeing or out of doors for much of it, but her eyes were bright. "How come you don't look tired?" Zoey asked numbly.

  "This is nothing compared to my residency to become a doctor. That was tiring. During residency, I had to make split-second, life-and-death decisions under sleep-deprived conditions. While this is no less important, it's moving a lot slower. The physical exertion helps me to stay alert, too. I really could use a hot shower, though."

  "You had to bring that up, didn't you? I thought you sauna'd yourselves clean out here."

  "Oh, I still shower every chance I get."

  The small talk relaxed Zoey temporarily, and for a second, she almost stopped thinking about what might be going on inside the bunker.

  "Thanks for calming me down back there. Did you learn that in medical school?"

  "No. They don't teach bedside manners there. Either you have it, or you don't. I was just being another human being. You were so tense I thought you were going to break right in half." She motioned with her hands as though she was breaking a pencil.

  "I think if you had come any later, I might have. I'm still not out of the woods." Zoey managed a smile.

  "A cracked-up shrink. Isn't that a prerequisite?"

  "At least I'm not a jealous one," Zoey said. "You know Jo has a crush on you, don't you?"

  "You noticed that? Well, if she's alive, she'll have attractions to people. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Sandy and me, we're lifers."

  "Yeah, I think Jo and I are, too, but right now I'm just hoping that it will be a long life."

  CHAPTER 36

  Jo settled down in front of the fire with Frank, but she couldn't risk talking. She could tell that he was weighing the risks of speaking as well because he kept looking at her expectantly and then looking down.

  Don paced and held onto his pistol with his good hand. Jo thought it looked like a 44 magnum revolver. She knew it could hold six powerful bullets. The gun she had tucked away in her coat was a 9 millimeter with what she presumed to be a standard-issue cop clip. Police routinely carry fifteen-round, semiautomatic clips. She thought about conversations she had had or overheard among cops regarding their weapon of choice in any given situation. Now she understood why they engaged in lengthy discussions like the one she was having internally. It really mattered when you needed every advantage.

  His 44 magnum is a monster, and can do a lot of damage up close, but it's useless at a distance.

  It only holds six bullets and is slow to load and shoot.

  My 9 millimeter is more accurate at a distance, lighter, and easier to maneuver. It also holds a lot more bullets.

  She realized that she was weighing the pros and cons of pulling her gun and trying to outshoot him. Am I really thinking about killing him?

  I've had a little training. Probably just enough to make me dangerous.

  She knew that people involved in a shooting react in one of three ways. Ideally, everything slows down to what seems like slow motion, and the person's senses become finely tuned. Every smell and motion is distinct. The shooter becomes focused in on the event, and everything else disappears until the shooting is over.

  The second way is that everything becomes fuzzy. The person has trouble dealing with reality, and sounds become distorted. They have trouble filtering out any distractions and sometimes freeze or shoot wildly.

  The third reaction is either freezing or running, even when the situation calls for action. While she had had the chance to participate in simulated shootings guided by video and sound, it had always seemed like a game to her.

  She also knew that, statistically, many trained officers involved in shoots were likely to miss their intended target. Shit, I'm barely trained at all.

  All kinds of statistics flashed in her mind, but the thing she kept focusing on was that the average trained shooter has a one-in-two chance of hitting a sedentary target. The average trained shooter has a one-in-five chance of hitting a moving target. She didn't know what expertise with guns Don had, but she knew her own proficiency was very low.

  He had already proven his skill, tho
ugh. How had he managed to get the drop on Deputy Bruns, someone with a lot more experience than I have?

  Another phrase kept cycling through her head. A weapon in the hands of an untrained person increases the likelihood of his or her death. The effect that Don's mental illness would have on the situation was unknown.

  She shook her head to free herself of this line of thinking. She knew that she had an uncanny ability to talk her way out of situations. When he saw her shake her head, Frank gave her a quizzical and concerned look. She winked reassuringly at him and turned her attention back to Don.