He rounded the corner onto the main street and came to a stop. A man on his side of the road was shooting at something across the road. As he watched, his father’s head bobbed up and he took a shot at the man. Abram was nowhere in sight. It just seemed to be the man and his father caught in the battle. He stepped back around the corner and leaned against the wall of the building so he wouldn’t distract his father. He needed to focus all his attention on the man with the gun.
Corey put his hand on his own gun. Should he shoot at the man? He didn’t think he could kill a person. What if Corey tried and missed? Should he chance it? Something could go horribly wrong. But what could he do?
Corey lifted his gun, his heart pounding in his chest.
29
Nick was sitting on the ground, back against the SUV, his head pounding. The shooter across the street must be reloading, he thought. It had been at least ten seconds since a shot had been fired. He couldn’t see how he was going to get out of this alive. Only one man was gunning for them at the moment, but there were more in the store, and Emma was in there too. How were they going to get out of this alive?
A car door slammed, which was kind of surprising—who would get in a car in the middle of a shootout? But then Abram ran across the gap between the truck he’d been hiding behind and the SUV Nick was using for cover. Abram touched his arm and said something, but Nick couldn’t tell what it was. He just knew they were going to die here. He shook his head in incomprehension.
“Are you hurt?” Abram asked.
This time the words made it through.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“We’re going to end this now,” Abram said. “We’re going to go in there and get Emma. But it’s going to take two of us to get inside. Are you in?”
“How?”
“We are going to run right across the street and into the store. To get across in one piece, we are both going to have to shoot at the tall guy behind the car over there. If we both keep shooting, he should have to stay undercover, allowing us to get inside.” Abram peered into Nick’s eyes. “Are you with me here, Nick?”
“But what about the guy inside? He has a gun.”
“We have to take our chances. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck here for who knows how long.”
“We’d be leaving ourselves wide open for the other guy. We need to be able to at least keep our eyes peeled for him. I can’t do that and shoot at this guy.” Nick pointed his thumb toward the tall man, who was loading his gun.
Abram let out a sharp breath. “We have to. There’s no other way. I can look out for the guy inside, but you’ll need to cover me, then.”
Nick shook his head.
“For Emma.”
Nick could hear a slight crack in Abram's voice as he said his daughter’s name. He ran his hand through his hair and dropped his gaze. After a moment he met Abram’s pleading glance. “Okay,” he said, “but I think this is suicide.”
Abram grabbed Nick by the shoulder in appreciation. “Put a fresh magazine in your pistol. We need all the ammo we can get.”
Nick ejected the partially used magazine and pulled a fresh one from his holster, clicking it home. The task was a little more difficult with his hands shaking with fear. Or was it adrenaline? Maybe both. He looked up at Abram.
“On three,” Abram said, and Nick nodded. “One…”
Just then, a gunshot came from another direction. Abram and Nick exchanged a quick glance, and Abram snuck a quick peek before yelling, “Go, go, go!”
Nick was confused but did as he was told. He stood up and ran as fast as he could toward the entry of the store. But when he went to shoot at the man, he noticed the man was firing his weapon in another direction, toward the source of the unknown gunman. Maybe Gary was back to help them—but where did he get a gun?
In less than ten seconds, they hurried up the few steps that lead to the store’s entrance. Abram turned and fired one round into the tall man’s head, and he collapsed.
Then, Abram grabbed Nick’s arm and pulled him into the store. Shots rang out from the back of the store and Nick dived into one of the aisles. But someone had stacked a short wall of cans across the opening, and Nick tripped and fell. He struggled to get up, but the food was underfoot now, and he couldn’t get purchase on the floor.
Footsteps sounded at the end of the aisle, and he looked up to see a figure, all dressed in black, coming at him from the other end of the row. He reached for his gun, but it was gone—he’d dropped it when he fell. He could see it, but it was out of reach. He relaxed onto the ground amidst the rolling cans and closed his eyes. He’d gotten Abram into the store, and now he was done.
A shot fired above him.
Abram heard Nick fall, the cans rolling along the floor and the scrabbling as he tried to get up again. He also listened for the steps of the gunman coming for him. He sent a covering shot down the length of the store and dashed across the gap so he could hide in front of the endcap of the aisle Nick was in. He risked a quick look to see Nick on his back on the floor, with a gunman who hadn’t been outside bearing down on him.
Abram didn’t even think; he aimed between the eyes and shot the gunman before he could kill Nick. The gunman fell with a thud, and Nick's eyes flew open. Abram gave him a hand up.
“We’re even now,” Abram said. He motioned toward the far end of the aisle to indicate they should go that way, and Nick nodded in agreement.
He wondered how many people were left in the store. At least one woman and one man. The woman who’d been holding Emma on the porch landing and the man who had dragged her inside. Plus, anyone else who might have been waiting inside for the transaction to take place. That number could be indefinite.
They made their way, stepping carefully and as quietly as they could down the aisle. These shelves were high, seven feet at least, Abram figured. Much higher than what was typically found in a small-town store, but it worked to their advantage as much as their disadvantage. He couldn’t see the people in the store, but they couldn’t see him either.
Nick stopped in front of him, and Abram came to stand beside him. He froze.
Emma was standing in the produce section, still blindfolded, still bound and gagged. But she was still in the clutches of the man who had dragged her through the door and was now holding a gun to her head. She was crying silently, the tears seeping out from under the cloth covering her eyes. He longed to talk to her, to tell her that everything was all right. That they’d have her out of here in a moment, but he was afraid to speak. Fearful that the smallest motion or sound would cause the finger on the trigger to twitch and put a bullet in her head.
Time stood still. The man seemed to be unsure of whose eye to catch, Abram’s or Nick’s. But he settled on Abram, perhaps seeing the panic that had welled up within him. They locked eyes, and Abram tried to take the measure of the man, but there was nothing there to tell him if his daughter would be shown mercy, or if he’d be willing to trade Abram’s life for hers. There was nothing there at all, and Abram felt a chill run down his back.
On his way toward the front of the store, Corey saw the tall man sprawled out on the road behind the car, bullet hole in his head.
His stomach churned as he moved on to the stairs to the store. A shot rang out from inside and Corey raced up them, entering the building as silently as he could. He crept down the center aisle and couldn’t see or hear anyone in the store, but he knew they had to be there. There’d been gunfire from in here just a moment ago.
He spotted Emma—blindfolded and gagged—and held his breath. The man holding her was looking the other way, focused on something out of Corey’s line of sight. He’d have to be careful—Emma was so close to the man, but his aim was excellent now…he could aim for a spot behind the man’s ear, then Emma should be okay. Her head only came to his shoulder.
He felt suddenly cold at the thought of killing a man at such close range, but the man had Emma, and if he were going to let her go, he would have done it b
y now. It was her or her captor, and Corey knew which one to choose. He didn’t know what would happen to his immortal soul, or even if he had one, but he did know he couldn’t stand by and let his best friend in the world be killed.
He raised his gun, stepping forward, and glass beneath his foot crunched. The man’s head and gun hand whipped in Corey’s direction as Corey pulled the trigger, and his bullet missed. The man was luckier; he squeezed his finger, again and again, the gun firing three times. The noise rang in Corey’s ears, and a burning pain seared his side.
He dropped his gun and put his hand to his side, trying to stop the bleeding. He fell to his knees on the floor and then over onto his side, glass stinging his cheek. More gunfire echoed in the store, and he tried to cry out to Emma. But the world was going black, and nothing came out of his mouth.
The shot that was fired confused Abram—where had it come from? But the distraction was all he needed. The moment the man loosened his grip on Emma, he shot. A bubble of blood blossomed on the man’s forehead as Emma jumped and screamed, and the man’s body dropped.
Abram and Nick surged forward to grab her, Abram wrapping his arms around his daughter. “It’s me,” he said and began to work the blindfold from her eyes. Movement caught his eye, and he saw the woman, who had been holding Emma outside, run for the door. He could take care of her later—for now, Emma needed him. The blindfold gone, he started to work on the gag as Emma stood sobbing and shaking.
“There’s a boy down over here,” Nick said.
“Can you help me with her wrists?” Abram asked, but Nick ran down the aisle, presumably in search of the boy.
Abram ignored Nick’s distraction and pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket. He carefully sawed at the rope around her wrists, careful not to cut Emma’s skin. He felt hot anger at the condition of her arms where the cord had bit into her. She was rubbed raw, and there were bruises the size and shape of fingerprints. If the man hadn’t already been dead, he would have shot him again. As it was, when he got his hands on that woman, she’d be dead too.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard the door to the store open. Was she still in here, ready to die?
“Stay here with Nick,” Abram said. “I have something to take care of before we head home.”
Nick moved from Abram and Emma to see the teenager who was lying on the floor. His back was to Nick, and his shirt and hoody were soaked with blood. The boy looked familiar, but his hood was up, and Nick couldn’t see his face. His clothes reminded him of Corey, but Corey was back at the house, safe on the farm. Not here with a bullet hole in his side.
But those were Corey’s shoes, he was sure of it. He dove for the boy, grabbing his hooded head, and turned his face so Nick could see.
“Corey!”
His boy's face was gray and bloodless.
“No, no, no,” Nick cried, tears running down his cheeks.
He felt for a pulse, and held his breath, hoping one could be found.
Abram found the woman on her knees at the front of the store. She was staring through the window, her eyes on the man lying on the sidewalk, the first casualty of the gunfight, tears running down her face. Abram pulled his gun and aimed for her head, but Emma sucked in her breath behind him.
“Dad, don’t,” she said, the words coming out in a croak.
He stood a moment longer, the gun pointed at the back of the woman’s head, knowing she was aware of him now. His hand began to shake, and he was ashamed of himself. There was a difference between killing someone in defense and shooting them point blank, execution style.
“Nobody else has to die.” Emma’s voice reached him as if through a fog.
Abram holstered the gun. She was right, but he couldn’t leave the woman here—she knew where they lived. “Find me something to tie her with, Emma. We have to take her with us.”
Emma disappeared and returned with a package of clothesline. He took the knife back out of his pocket, cut a length, and pulled the woman’s arms behind her back. She didn’t put up a fight, still distraught as she stared at the dead man outside. He quickly tied her hands behind her and said to the woman, “Stay here.”
“Oh no,” Emma cried, and dashed across the room. Abram turned to see what was happening, his hand straying to his holster once again. But it wasn’t a threat…it was Corey, lying on the floor, his clothes soaked in his blood. It was Corey who shot at the man who was holding her, and he’d taken a bullet giving Abram a chance to kill the man.
A cold fear washed over him. Had Corey been killed?
“Corey! Corey, talk to me.” Emma was across the room on her knees next to Nick, calling his name frantically, and Abram feared the worst. “Corey, wake up,” she sobbed. Abram noticed Nick was crying as well.
Abram went to put a hand on Emma’s shoulder to comfort her, but she shrugged it off.
“Corey,” she cried again. And Abram felt helpless.
Corey heard someone calling his name from far, far away. He was lost in darkness and pain, but he could hear her, and so he tried to wake up. I’m here, he said, I’m right here, but no sound came out of his mouth.
Pain brought him to his senses, and he yelled.
“Easy, Corey,” his dad said. “I’m packing your wound so we can get you back to the farm. I know it hurts.”
But the pain was in his back, and his hands were pressed to the bullet hole in his side. He wanted to tell his father he was in the wrong place, but he was fading out again. He was awake again a moment later when they were working on the bullet hole. They’d pulled his hands away, and there was a searing pain, a burning that took his breath away.
“Emma, go out and empty the dirt boxes from the garden cart, and pile the food on either side. We want a channel in the middle for Corey. Do you understand?” This was Abram’s voice.
“I can’t put him in a fireman’s lift,” this was his dad, “because there might be a bullet…”
Corey was in the black again, the calm, painless black where nothing hurt. He wanted to stay here, to fall deeper into the cool darkness, but the pain kept pulling him back into the light. They were carrying him seated on their forearms. And just before his head lolled forward, he saw a figure holding the door open.
Something jarred his entire body, making the wound in his gut scream. There were trees and sky above, and he was being rattled along. He caught a glimpse of Emma, though she didn't seem real. Was he dreaming?
The tolling of the gate bell pulled him into consciousness. Someone was ringing and ringing the bell. Didn’t Abram have the key? Corey was sure Abram had been with them. So why was the bell ringing? His head thudded with the metallic reverb. “You can stop now,” he said, but no one heard him.
The Guinea hens and chickens squawked nearby, and the goats bleated, but Corey didn’t open his eyes. His lids were too heavy. They had made it to the compound.
There was a rough patch where they carried him again, and it hurt so bad. He wanted to tell them to stop, to leave him in the grass, but he couldn’t get any words to come out. Only groaning and sobbing, and he just wanted them to put him down.
Then, finally, he was still again, but on something hard. It was solid, but if he was still, he could go back into the dark, and he could stay in the dark where there was no pain.
“Corey.” Something cold soothed his cheek. “Corey, open your eyes, I need to talk to you.”
It was Maggie, and she was sprinkling something cold and wet on his face. Didn’t she know he just wanted to sleep?
“Come on, Corey, I need you awake for this.” It was Maggie’s voice again.
He opened his eyes.
“There he is,” Maggie said, looking down at him. “Corey, you’ve got a bullet in your side, and I need to get it out so I can sew you up. I don’t have anything to put you under with, so I need you awake. You have to hold really still. Okay? It’s going to hurt, but I want you to stay as still as you can. Do you understand?”
He nodded, but tears welled in h
is eyes. He didn’t want her to know he was afraid. He held himself rigid so she wouldn’t see his hands shake.
“That’s right,” she said, and then there was a horrible burning in his side.
30
Nick stood at the end of the kitchen table, watching Maggie work on his boy. He’d nearly broken down when tears had started dripping down Corey’s face. The boy bit his lip and didn’t say a word, but the tears still flowed.
Maggie cut back the shirt, cleaned the skin with disinfectant, and took a pair of hook-nosed tweezers from a sterile package. She felt along Corey’s abdomen before plunging the instrument into the hole made by the bullet.
Corey let out a scream.
“Hold him down, Nick,” Maggie said.
Nick held his boy’s arms down, distraught at the amount of pain Corey was now in.
A few moments passed, though to Corey they must have felt like eternity, and then there was a clink as Maggie dropped the bullet into a kitchen saucer.
“Okay, now I’m going to irrigate this and stitch him up.” She turned to Corey. “I’m going to pour some saline into the wound to flush it out, and then I’m going to stitch you up. It’ll hurt, but not as bad as pulling out the bullet.”
Corey nodded and scrunched his eyes shut.
“You’re going to be fine, son.” Nick took Corey’s hand, his eyes welling up with tears.
Corey closed his eyes and grimaced when the saline was squirted into the bullet hole. As the stitches went in, he gritted his teeth, and when she was finished dressing the wound, Corey’s face was gray again.
Nick lifted his son from the table and carried him to his bed. Emma, who was waiting in a chair by the bed, had pulled back the covers.
“Give us a few minutes, Emma, I’m going to put him in fresh clothes,” Nick said.
Instant Darkness Page 21