Landfall

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  Around noon, Maggie’s cell phone rang, and she saw that it was Brian’s father, Jason.

  “Hey, Jason,” Maggie answered.

  “Hey, Maggie. Listen, we’re going to head on back to town,” Jason said. “I hear on the radio that Faye’s been upgraded to a Cat 1, and she’s beating the crap out of Naples right now.”

  “Yeah, I was watching the Weather Channel earlier,” Maggie said. “But they said she was headed northwest, back out into the Gulf.”

  “Well, now they’re thinking she might just keep moving straight up the coast,” Jason said. “She hasn’t veered off yet.”

  Maggie sighed, as thirty-seven things added themselves to her to-do list. “Okay, thanks, Jason. Are you coming back now?”

  “Yeah, we’re breaking camp right now. We should be dropping him off in an hour or so. You home?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here. I think I’ll board up, then we’ll go ahead and leave tonight.”

  “You still need us to come by and feed the dog and the chickens while you’re gone?”

  “No, I’ll take Coco with me,” Maggie said. She’d take the chickens, too, if she could. “The chickens are going to be put up in the concrete shed, and I’ll make sure they have enough food and water to last.”

  “Okay then. We’ll see you in a bit,” Jason said, and hung up.

  Maggie sighed again, and headed down the hall to Sky’s room, Coco on her heels, the dog’s toenails tapping against the hardwood floor.

  Maggie stopped in Sky’s open doorway. Sky was packing. Tinny, obnoxious music leaked from her earbuds. She looked up and spotted Maggie, pulled one earbud out.

  “We’re gonna have to go ahead and get ready for a storm,” Maggie said. “Faye might move up the coast.”

  “What about Coco?”

  “She’s coming with us.”

  “Do they allow dogs at the hotel?”

  “They will,” Maggie said. “Let’s get the windows boarded up, then we’re going to need to move Stoopid and The Girls over to the shed. Kyle will be home in about an hour to help.”

  “Chicken herding. This is gonna be awesome,” Sky said with an eye-roll.

  “Yeah, all kinds of fun,” Maggie agreed, and she and Coco headed back up the hall.

  Maggie and Sky were almost halfway through boarding up the windows when Kyle got home. Jason had offered to stay and help, but Maggie knew he needed to make preparations at his own home, and she and the kids had gotten pretty good at it over the years. Maggie held the sheets of plywood up and Sky drilled them in. With Kyle to help hold them up from the bottom, the rest of the job went more quickly.

  Moving The Girls from the chicken yard to the concrete shed went less smoothly. The shed was a small, concrete block affair, which sat on a foundation of even more concrete blocks, that her grandfather had put up to store tools and parts for his oyster skiff. Those had been gone for years, though the skiff itself was still moored to the dock behind the house.

  A few years back, Maggie had cleared out the shed and added some perches for the chickens, in preparation for a tropical storm that had gone fickle and decided not to show up. She had Kyle throw some straw down and fill the automatic waterer and the food and grit pans. She and Sky commenced herding the dozen hens from the chicken pen to the shed twenty feet away. It was a lot like chasing clowns from one clown car into another. Stoopid actually helped out somewhat, chasing Miss Mathilda around in circles until she wore out and allowed herself to be yanked up and carried.

  Stoopid himself wasn’t that easy. The three of them chased him around the yard until he finally flapped up onto a tree limb just out of reach. Maggie tried coaxing him with feed, lettuce, and finally Cheetos, to no avail. She eventually threw up her hands, tossed him a few choice words, and vowed to catch him later.

  By six o’clock, the wind had picked up considerably, the sky had grown steely gray, and the Weather Channel was reporting that Hurricane Faye was still a Cat 1, but had stalled just west of Cedar Key and was picking up a great deal of water to add to the already torrential rains. Panhandle residents were being advised to prepare their homes and move inland.

  Maggie and the kids had loaded up the Jeep and were grabbing a few last items when Maggie dialed Wyatt on her cell.

  “Hey,” he answered. “What’s going on with your weather?”

  “Things are starting to get windy,” she said. “No rain yet, though. Kyle came home early, so we’re getting ready to head out now.”

  Maggie turned around and looked at Coco, who was growling and pacing in front of the door. She’d been agitated for several minutes. She hated storms, and the wind had started rattling the porch furniture and flower pots and other miscellaneous things outside. Maggie slapped her thigh to call Coco, but was ignored.

  “How long’s it going to take you to get to Jax?” Wyatt was asking.

  “Well, I’m thinking quite a few people are heading inland, so traffic might suck a little. We should be there around eleven or so, though.”

  “I’ll probably be asleep by then,” Wyatt said. “I have to be at the hospital at seven-thirty. But call me if you need to.”

  Coco let out a low bark at the front window. “Coco, it’s fine,” Maggie said, then turned her attention back to the call. “I will. I’ve gotta run. I need to charge my phone and catch Stoopid.”

  “Is he coming to Orlando, too?”

  “Maybe in a crock pot,” Maggie said. “Get some rest and I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Okee-doke. Be careful.”

  Maggie hung up and went to the window by the front door, where Coco stood growling. When she looked out to the yard, Maggie’s heart flipped a bit. Stoopid was in the middle of the gravel parking area, flapping and crowing, leaning into the wind. Coco barked sharply, and Maggie took her collar, led her back to her bedroom, and closed the door. She didn’t need Coco outside, too.

  As Maggie opened the front door, Stoopid started toward the house, then a gust dumped him onto his butt. He righted himself, only to get blown a few feet through the gravel. Maggie ran down the stairs.

  The winds had picked up considerably, and Maggie judged them to be a good 20mph. She hopped over a terra cotta flower pot as it rolled toward her feet, and ran after her rooster, who was rolling into the grass.

  Apparently, he wasn’t panicked enough to be sure he wanted rescue, because he flailed away from her when she reached down to pick him up. She cursed him, as she heard Kyle call into the wind from the deck.

  “Mom?” he called, his voice uncertain.

  “It’s okay,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I’ll get him.”

  She ran a few steps, then had to pivot as Stoopid got blown to the side.

  “Mom?” Kyle called again, sounding worried.

  “Kyle, it’s okay! Wait inside.”

  She made one last leap at Stoopid as he flapped on his back, and scooped him up with a grunt. “Peck me and I’ll punch you right in the face,” she growled.

  She didn’t want to risk opening the shed door and having one or more of the hens make a dash for it. She was going to have to set Stoopid up in the house and deal with the chicken poop when she got back. She turned around to head for the house, and felt as though all of her internal organs had stopped functioning at once.

  Kyle stood at the top of the stairs. The man from the flower shop stood behind him, one hand on the neck of her little boy, the other holding a gun to his temple.

  As Maggie stood there, Stoopid still in her grip, the sound of blood rushing in her ears overtook the sounds of the wind. Her eyes were locked on Kyle’s. His sleek, black hair whipped across his eyes, but she could still see them, bright green, large and frightened. For a moment, his fear, and the gun at his temple, were the only things that existed for Maggie. And then she wondered, Where’s Sky? She felt ice forming in her chest, could feel it sealing and cracking over her lungs and her heart. She had known terror before, but her children had never been in danger. This was a level of fear
beyond her experience.

  “Get up here, real nice and slow,” the man said over the wind.

  Maggie started for the stairs, and she was vaguely aware of being surprised that Stoopid hadn’t moved a muscle, though his little heart was pounding beneath her hand. As she walked up the stairs, her eyes flicked back and forth between Kyle’s and the man’s. The man’s eyes were cold, yet agitated, maybe even a little frightened, but his gun hand didn’t tremble.

  The gun was a .22, and things broke inside of Maggie as she remembered everything she knew about gunshots to the head with a 22-caliber. The way the small rounds tended to bounce around inside the skull, inflicting horrific brain damage, even if they didn’t kill. She swallowed hard and ascended the stairs.

  When she got to the shaky step, the stair and the piling beneath it wobbled a bit, but she expected it, and her eyes remained locked onto the man’s, as he backed up the few steps into the house, looking over his shoulder quickly before he moved inside.

  Maggie followed him into the dining area just inside the door. She could hear Coco barking and growling from behind her closed bedroom door, but her attention was immediately drawn away from Coco to Sky, who was lying on the floor of the small, open kitchen, unconscious or worse.

  The man saw where she was looking. “She ain’t dead. But she can be, if you try to get cute with me. Get rid of that roo and close the door.”

  Maggie knew he meant for her to dump Stoopid outside, but instead she tossed him onto the dining room table, then reached back and shut the door. The man looked at her like she was an idiot, but he didn’t say anything. Stoopid flapped around on the table with a confused cough, then jumped down to the floor and high-stepped into the living area.

  Maggie took a deep breath. “What do you want?” she asked, sounding far calmer than she was.

  “What do I want?” the man repeated, his eyes narrow and full of hate. He held onto Kyle’s shoulder as they moved slowly toward her. The barrel of the gun never left Kyle’s skin. “So far I’ve got what I want.”

  “My son?” Maggie asked, blinking rapidly.

  The man stopped just inches from her. “Your son!” he said, with something close to disgust in his voice, and he raised his hand off of Kyle’s shoulder. She caught Kyle’s eye for a split second, terrified he would instinctively try to move away because the hand was gone. Then the upper cut slammed into her chin before her brain could tell her to block it.

  When Maggie came around, she was lying on the wood floor, her hands tied tightly behind her back. She could hear Coco, still barking from her bedroom. Before she blinked her eyes open, she fully expected Kyle to be gone. He wasn’t.

  Kyle and Sky were sitting next to each other on the far side of the dining room table. Maggie’s throat tightened with gratitude that Sky was conscious. There was a reddened mound on her left temple where a serious bruise would soon appear, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Her arms were tied together around the back of the chair, and the man from the flower shop was bent behind Kyle, apparently tying his as well.

  Maggie sat up with a grunt. It took some effort, and was awkward because of the ropes that bound her wrists. The man glanced over at her, then back to his work. The eyes of both of her children locked onto hers.

  The fear in those eyes, and the damage to Sky’s face, brought a slow, warm wave of anger to Maggie, one that she welcomed. Anger had rescued her from fear more than once. Fear for her children had been almost paralyzing, but rage calmed her. She could think clearly through it. This man was at a serious advantage. He was armed and she was unable to get to her weapons at the moment. The only way she would be able to save her kids was by thinking clearly.

  Maggie scooted back on her butt until she hit the wall, then slumped against it. She stared back at her beautiful little boy, who was wincing as his wrists were tied.

  “It’s okay, Kyle,” she said softly. “It’ll be okay.”

  The man looked at her over Kyle’s shoulder. “That’s not for you to say, is it?” He finished up with Kyle and slowly walked around the table toward Maggie. He stopped a couple of feet away and stared down at her. “I decide what’s gonna be okay.”

  “What do you want?” Maggie asked again, trying not to sound too combative.

  “I’ll let you wonder about that for a while,” he said quietly. “Where’s your gun?”

  Maggie didn’t answer. He only waited for a few seconds before swinging his gun arm around and aiming at Kyle. “I don’t care about your kids,” he said. “I really don’t care about your kids. So, you either tell me where it is or you’ll have one less kid. If I have to go find it myself, you won’t have any kids at all.”

  Maggie tabulated possible answers and their outcomes. He might not want to go into her room because of Coco. Or, he might go in there to shut Coco up, and then he’d see her Glock sitting on her bed next to her overnight bag. He already had a gun. She had no way to use hers at the moment. It really didn’t change anything for him to have her weapon, too, but lying to him might change a lot of things.

  “It’s in my bedroom. On my bed.”

  “Which one’s your bedroom?”

  “The noisy one.”

  “Looks like we have a problem,” the man said. “I want that gun, but I’d sooner kill a human being than kill a decent dog.”

  Maggie’s heart lurched. “Please don’t hurt her,” she said quietly.

  “If she comes at me, I’ll kill her.”

  “She won’t, if I tell her it’s okay.”

  “She gonna believe that?”

  “No. But she’ll listen anyway.”

  The man reached down and grabbed her by the hair. “Get up.”

  Maggie struggled to her feet clumsily. He helped by lifting her up by her ponytail.

  “We’re gonna go get that gun. You’re gonna control that dog.” He jerked the gun toward the table. “Go stand over there.”

  Maggie walked over to the table and stood at the close end, the place where her late ex-husband David sat for dinner. No one sat there for dinner now, unless her parents were over. Kyle and Sky both looked up at her, and she hoped her face was reassuring.

  “Over there, by the couch,” the man said. “Outa my way.”

  Maggie moved a few feet toward the hallway, stopped and turned around at the end of the couch. The man stepped behind Kyle’s chair. Maggie noted that Kyle’s wrists were bound with a handcuff knot. Not one she would have chosen, but she noted that the man had used a length of rope she’d had hanging out on the deck. There’d only been a few yards. Maybe he’d chosen the knot because it didn’t require much rope. That would also explain why he hadn’t tied their wrists to the chairs. She would have.

  The man lifted Kyle up by one underarm. “Come on, boy.”

  “What are you doing?” Maggie asked.

  The man grinned at her. It wasn’t a pleasant grin. “I ain’t stupid. I think you’d be willing to let your dog at me, even if I did shoot her. Might buy you enough time to grab your gun, wouldn’t it?”

  He put the barrel of his gun back to Kyle’s temple, and jerked his chin at Maggie. “Let’s go. You get that dog there to calm down, and you don’t go in that room, hear me?”

  Maggie turned and started walking down the hallway. Coco must have smelled her, because she stopped barking and whined. “Coco, it’s okay, baby. Hush.” Coco whined back, then was quiet.

  Maggie stopped at the closed door and turned around. The man and Kyle were six feet or so behind her.

  “How am I supposed to open the door?” she asked quietly.

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  Maggie backed up to the door and tried to lift her arms enough to reach the doorknob, but she couldn’t. She stood up on her tippy toes, and after several slaps at the knob she heard the catch come open.

  “Watch yourself,” the man said, and Maggie couldn’t help but look at the gun barrel on the side of her little boy’s head. Kyle’s eyes were impossibly wide, and his knees were
shaking visibly.

  “Coco, sit!” Maggie commanded. “Stay.”

  The man moved Kyle forward as Maggie let the door swing slowly inward. He and Kyle were no more than three feet behind her.

  Coco was sitting near the foot of the bed, pointing her face toward Maggie and trying hard not to stand up, but her butt was lifted off of the floor a couple of inches before Maggie spoke. “Coco, sit!” she said sharply.

  She looked over her shoulder at the man.

  “You walk in there, real slow like. Get over there by her.”

  Maggie backed up slowly until she was standing next to her dog. Coco let out a low growl, then nudged at Maggie’s leg. “Shh, quiet. It’s okay.”

  The man looked over Kyle’s shoulder from the doorway, spotted Maggie’s service weapon on the bed. He stared at Coco for a moment, then, his hand still under Kyle’s arm, guided the boy over to the bed. When they got there, he pressed the gun barrel harder against Kyle’s temple.

  “Don’t you move, boy,” he said, then let go of Kyle’s arm, and bent just enough to snatch up the Glock in its holster. He shoved it into the front waistband of his jeans, then grabbed Kyle’s arm again.

  “You got any more guns in here?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You got a gun in that closet?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  He yanked Kyle with him as he stepped over to the nightstand and opened the small drawer. There was nothing in there but a couple of paperbacks and some hair clips. He shut the drawer, then pointed at the small, open closet behind Maggie. “Let me see in there.”

  Maggie walked over to the closet. She toed the door all the way open, and he looked at the floor, and on the shelf above the clothes, where several plastic shoe boxes were stacked.

  “Let’s go,” the man said to Maggie. “Us first, then you. The dog stays in here.”