Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files)

by Creston Mapes

  Zaher walked over to Everett. “And you still need to get your lovely wife and son down here.” He handed the mic to Everett and patted Sterling on the shoulder. “Tell them to make it snappy. We don’t have much time.”

  Zaher clasped his hands behind his back and walked away, as if taking a stroll in the park.

  Jack, Pam, and Margaret arrived back at the seats under the guard’s gunpoint. Pam winced as she sat, holding tightly to Jack’s and Margaret’s arms. Jack sighed as he sat, looking completely deflated.

  “Karen and Cole, listen carefully.” Everett’s voice over the PA was deep and resolute. “No matter what, I want you to stay where you are safe. Whatever you do, don’t come down here under any circumstances—”

  Zaher spun around and lifted his gun toward Everett as the crowd erupted in a collective gasp.

  32

  Shakespeare had been aligning Zaher in his sights along the side of the arena, hidden perfectly behind an enormous silver canister light, when the ringleader called him out by name. It should have come as no surprise. The hostiles must have had access to EventPros radios from the start.

  Down on the stage, Zaher had Everett on his knees with one arm locked around his neck and the other holding a gun to his temple. Zaher was wagging his head, yelling something that Shakespeare couldn’t make out because the microphone was lying on the floor.

  Shakespeare got his phone out. The battery had drained to 4 percent. He might not be able to complete the call, but he dialed Hedgwick anyway.

  “This’ll be my last call. Battery’s gone. Zaher ordered me down to the stage or he starts killing people. I’ve got to go. We have a pregnant woman, Pam Crittendon, in the third row with my coworker Jack Crittendon. She’s about to have a baby. They tried to get out, but Zaher wouldn’t let them. Also, Everett Lester was told to make his wife and kid come down, but instead Lester told them over the PA to stay put. Zaher has fired several rounds into the ceiling and empty seats. What’s your plan?”

  Nothing.

  “Hedgwick?”

  The line was silent.

  “Hedgwick, do you read?” He looked at the phone.

  Black screen.

  Battery dead.

  He holstered the phone, not knowing how much Hedgwick had even heard.

  Zaher shoved Everett face-first to the stage and grabbed the microphone. “Karen Lester? Cole Lester?” Zaher shouted. “If you don’t get down here in two minutes, Daddy dies.” He looked at his watch. “I’m counting.”

  This was insane.

  How dare these men come in here, hold us hostage, and try to rip away our freedom—the freedom to go to the hospital to have a baby! On our own soil!

  Shakespeare thought about dropping his rope over the edge and rappelling down to them peacefully, but they’d probably think he was attacking and gun him down.

  He leaned over the concrete ledge and peered down at the section of seats below, which was empty because the hostiles had forced everyone close to the stage.

  What did he have to lose?

  He quickly got the rope out of his backpack, looped one end through the trigger guard on his rifle, and tied a loose knot. Then he took off his ammo belt, rebuckled it, and tied it to the rope. Gently he began to lower the gun and ammo to the empty seats below, then let them down quickly, the rope zipping through his fingers. They hit the floor between two empty rows of seats, and he dropped the rope down with them.

  Then he was off to turn himself in, hoping his presence would serve as a delaying tactic for Karen and Cole.

  “She’s in active labor.” A woman had rushed to Pam’s side, telling Jack she was a nurse and her name was Lucy.

  Pam was now lying on the floor in the aisle, and Jack and Margaret knelt on either side of her.

  “I’m guessing she’s dilated. She should be in a hospital relaxing and focusing on her contractions.”

  “I need to shift,” Pam moaned. “My back is killing me.” She writhed and shifted onto her side.

  “We need drinking water and cold compresses,” Lucy said.

  “Ohhh.” Pam cried out and crossed her wrists over her chest. “Hoo, hoo, hoo …”

  “That’s another contraction.” Lucy checked her watch. “That was three and a half minutes. She could have this baby soon.”

  Pam breathed, breathed, breathed through the pain, which was taking forever to subside.

  Jack was beside himself. He had to get her out. But if he and Pam just headed out, would Zaher gun them down as his first victims?

  “The contractions are getting longer,” Lucy said. “You’re doing good, Pam. So good. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s going to be okay.”

  The contraction subsided. Pam’s shoulders slumped, and her whole body went limp. Jack wiped the sweat from her forehead.

  “That was almost sixty seconds,” Lucy said. “What do you want to do? You want to stay like you are or move around?”

  Pam just shook her head.

  “You need to relax now. Save your energy for the next one,” Lucy said. “Try to breathe slow and easy, slow and easy. Deep breaths now … plenty of oxygen to your brain.”

  “It’s not going away,” Pam said. “It’s like I’m cramping or like there’s a charley horse in my stomach. Feel it, it’s like a rock. My lower back … the pain won’t let up.” She talked in choppy blurts. “Do you think everything’s okay? Is she turned the wrong way or something? It doesn’t feel right. The pain’s burning.”

  Lucy nodded. “Everything’s fine. You’re doing great, considering the circumstances.”

  On the stage, Zaher was sticking the mic in Sterling’s face. “What did you say?”

  The corner of Sterling’s mouth was bleeding from where Zaher had backhanded him. The senator nodded toward Pam. “I said, why don’t you at least show some human decency and let that lady go to the hospital to have her baby?”

  Jack’s heart thundered. All eyes turned to Pam.

  “Do whatever you want to me. Just let her go,” Sterling said. “Let them all go. Don’t hurt these people; they’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Except support you! And fund you! And agree with whatever you say! They’re your clones, Senator!”

  “You want the sympathy of the American people? Let these folks go back to their homes. That’ll do more to support your cause than taking innocent lives.”

  Suddenly Zaher’s chin rose, and he craned his neck and cupped a hand over his eyes to block the lights. The crowd murmured. Everyone watched as a masked insurgent followed someone down the aisle, a machine gun pointed at his captive’s back.

  “Oh, look what we have here. Good. That was easy.” Zaher checked his watch. “Now all we need is the rest of the Lester family and we’ll have everyone together. Did you frisk him?”

  The insurgent nodded.

  Then Jack made out who the man was.

  It was Shakespeare—their last hope—making his way to the stage unarmed, about to become just another useless hostage.

  33

  Pamela wanted to hurt Shareek Zaher.

  Her mind was a blur. She was so scared and frustrated and in such intense pain, she thought for a hazy moment she might black out.

  Lucy, her godsend, wiped her drenched face with a tissue and whispered to Jack and Margaret that the most recent contraction lasted a minute and a half. Pamela barely felt any letup between them. It all felt like one long, burning, painful nightmare.

  “Calm … be calm, sweetie.” Lucy patted her forehead.

  Jack squeezed Pamela’s hand, but she shook it away. Stop! Why would you do that?

  “I’m just trying to keep you relaxed,” he said. “You’re shaking.”

  Duh, I’m shaking! Terrorists are about to blow us up, and I want to push this baby out right here on the floor of this godforsaken arena
where you work part-time for nine dollars an hour!

  Zaher ordered Shakespeare to sit on the stage with the others. This was not good.

  Where are the police? Why haven’t they come?

  Pamela was no midwife, but she bet she was close to being fully dilated. She had to go to the bathroom so badly. Or was it the baby, ready to come into this insane world?

  “Ohhh.” A searing pain knifed her lower back. “I’ve got to move. I’ve got to!”

  “Okay, okay.” Lucy guided her as she shifted through the pain onto all fours.

  Jack and Margaret hovered over her, way too close. “Give me space,” she said. They inched away, but not far enough. “More!”

  Zaher was saying something to Everett, but she couldn’t hear what. The crowd was gasping.

  “Pam, what can I do?” Jack said.

  She shook her head, which was buried in her arms on the floor, facedown. “Hospital” was all she could mumble.

  The pain in her back and abdomen was so overpowering, her entire body hurt. But there was no escape.

  “Breathe, Pam. Relax and breathe,” Lucy said. “Let’s take it one contraction at a time. You’ve been awesome so far.”

  Lucy didn’t say she was an obstetrical nurse, but she was clearly experienced. She probably had children of her own. But she was so extremely skinny—and pale. And she had several bruises on the inside of her right arm. In a fleeting moment, Pamela wondered if she was fighting some kind of illness or even cancer.

  “Think how far you’ve come,” Lucy whispered. “We’re going to make it.”

  “How far am I?”

  Lucy shook her head. “I’m not sure, but you’re a champ.”

  Something had to happen. Or was she going to be forced to have the baby right there on—

  “Ahhhh.” The shooting cramp took her breath away, and it got worse … worse … worse!

  She couldn’t think.

  Seemingly from a great distance away, Lucy was coaching her to breathe, but all Pamela was trying to do was keep her sanity.

  “How long was that?” Jack said.

  Who cares, Jack!

  “Two minutes between contractions,” Lucy said. “Give her space, Jack.”

  Suddenly Jack was gone. She was facedown, rubbing her forehead with her fists. Rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, as if she were scrubbing a dirty pan with steel wool.

  “Take it easy,” Lucy whispered, not touching her. “Breathe however you have to in order to get through it. That’s it. Do what comes naturally.”

  There was a commotion.

  People were starting to yell, screaming in anger.

  “Look at her! She needs a hospital.” It was Jack’s voice.

  Don’t get shot, Jack. Don’t get shot …

  “It hurts so bad.”

  Lucy didn’t hear her.

  Pamela said it again.

  Or did she?

  All she knew for sure was that she was going out of her mind with the pain.

  Derrick gripped Margaret’s pink-and-black nine-millimeter Taurus a little tighter and inched it a little higher behind the seat in front of him as Jack argued with Zaher to let him get Pam to a hospital.

  Everything was happening at once.

  The crowd was chanting angrily to let Pam go. Shakespeare was whispering to the others seated onstage. Sterling was pleading to let the people go. The whole thing was reaching a boiling point.

  “We’re gonna walk out of here,” Jack stated to Zaher.

  Derrick feared Zaher would snap.

  “If Karen Lester doesn’t get down here with that kid right now, the rock star dies.” Zaher had Everett’s face pressed to the stage, gun to the back of his head. “And if you people don’t shut up, and that includes you”—he pointed the remote control at Jack—“I will blow this place to pieces. Shut up right now!”

  “Stop! Wait!” The crowd quieted when a woman’s voice rang out from the top of the steps beyond the stage. “We’re here!” It was Karen Lester. “Don’t hurt him!” Clutching her son’s hand. Holding her blonde hair behind her ear. Coming down the steps at gunpoint.

  “No.” Everett shook his head in torment, his shoulders lurching, unable to look up and see his family because Zaher still had the gun jammed to his head.

  Just then one of the gunmen, a wide hulking guy with a toothpick in his mouth, stepped forward to get Zaher’s attention and pointed at his own headset. Zaher dashed to him. The gunman put his head down and cupped his earpiece, listening intently.

  Shakespeare made eye contact with Sterling.

  Were they going to try something? But what? They had no weapons. Derrick breathed in enormously, eyeing the gun in his hands, mentally preparing to pick off as many of the terrorists as possible, should Shakespeare and Sterling make some kind of move.

  The masked gunman explained something to Zaher, and they both turned toward the back of the stage, blocked the light from their eyes, and peered up to the top of the bowl. Two masked gunmen ran a quarter of the way down the steps, frantically waving their arms and machine guns.

  Zaher turned back to Karen and Cole. “Stop where you are!” They had just reached the lower seats on the side of the bowl, near where red-faced Charlie Clearwater hung upside down with bombs strapped to his stomach.

  Zaher quickstepped to the hostages onstage. “All of you, get over there with Lester’s wife and boy—now! Move!” He pointed his gun toward Karen and Cole.

  Everyone looked at one another, hesitating, except Everett, who scrambled to his feet and started toward his wife and son.

  “Not you!” Zaher pointed the machine gun at Everett. “You stay.”

  Shakespeare quickly got to his feet and took charge, leading the others into the dark shadows offstage and down the steps toward where Karen stood shivering, hugging Cole. Sterling slowly followed the group, making sure they were all accounted for.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Zaher bashed his machine gun into Sterling’s gut, knocking the wind out of him.

  “The rest of you get down there. Hurry!”

  Zaher’s two henchmen closed in on Sterling and Lester, and they made their way offstage. Zaher stopped in the light at the edge of the shadow. “Do not attempt to leave,” he announced. “Stay where you are. And remember, America, this is just a taste of what is to come.”

  With that they disappeared into the shadows.

  34

  His heart pounding and his mind riffling through options, Shakespeare embraced Karen and Cole almost directly beneath Charlie, who was swaying upside down with the bomb. The frenzied crowd searched one another’s faces with cautious hope rising in their fear-filled eyes.

  “Where’re they going? Where’re they taking Everett?” Karen shook uncontrollably. “Can you follow them?”

  “Let me think, just let me think.” Shakespeare rested a hand on their backs and eyed the section where he’d lowered his rifle, about fifty yards away.

  Zaher and his men were hurrying Sterling and Everett at gunpoint up the long aisle of steps leading to the main concourse. Several henchmen ran down to meet them and help them up the steps.

  They must have had a plan to escape, but with all of the police outside, Shakespeare couldn’t figure it out.

  “Charlie, you okay?” he called up to his colleague, whose face was dark like a bruise.

  Charlie didn’t even attempt to see who was calling him. He was frozen, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m okay,” he called. “Head’s about to explode.”

  You could have used a different expression.

  “Do you know anything about the bombs?” Shakespeare asked.

  He slowly shook his head. “Just get me down.”

  “We will. Hang on.”

  Shakespeare scanned the seats near the stage. Jack and Derrick, Margaret an
d another lady surrounded Pam, who was still laid out in the aisle at the third row.

  The hostiles who had been atop each set of steps were retreating into the concourse. All Shakespeare could figure was that Hedgwick’s SWAT team was moving in, and Zaher’s guys had gotten wind of it. His troops were pulling out, but by what exit? They were sure targets once they left the building.

  Would the bombs go off any second?

  Why hadn’t they stayed? What kind of jihad was this?

  Seeing the terrorists disappearing, people latched hands and began dashing in different directions, stopping, yelling, pointing, zigzagging. They all knew the bombs could go at any second. They had to get out. Some raced frantically for the steps leading up to the main concourse, while others forged into various large openings leading into the lower level of the arena.

  “Everyone, go!” Shakespeare waved. “Follow any exit sign! Hurry!” He led Karen and Cole into the aisle. “You’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I can’t go without Everett.”

  “Karen, I’m sorry. Get your son out. I’ll do what I can. Go.”

  Zaher and his gang had vanished into the main concourse.

  The people in the seats below where Charlie and Steve hung cleared out like two rapidly expanding sinkholes until no one was left beneath them.

  Shakespeare took off for Jack and Pam. Only Margaret and the skinny stranger remained with them. “How is she?” Shakespeare said.

  “She doesn’t think she can make it to a hospital,” Jack said.

  “We called. An ambulance is coming,” Margaret said. “If they can get in here.”

  “You can’t wait. You need to get her out of here.” Shakespeare nodded toward Charlie. “Those things might go.”

  Jack nodded, suddenly looking resolute. “Okay, we’ve got to do this.”

  Pam began to protest—

  “Good luck.” Shakespeare took off for his rifle.

  “Where’re you going?” Jack called.

  “After them.”

  “Wait!” Derrick held up Margaret’s gun. “Here.” He tossed it to him.