by Tom Abrahams
Jackie ignored her and moved quietly to the door, turning the handle counterclockwise. The door clicked and Jackie pulled it open enough to look through the opening with one eye.
She saw the blue flash of light first. It danced across the kitchen and into the pantry. From its narrow beam she could see at least four people. All of them were men. One of them held a bat or a large stick.
“What do you see?” whispered Betty. “What’s out—”
“Shhhh!”
Jackie could hear the faint murmur of voices coming from the group, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. The dancing light wasn’t enough for her to see who was talking. It was clear they were stealing from her pantry. Her anxiety melted into anger. She clenched her jaw, gripped the handle tightly and backed away, carefully shutting the door. She took small steps back to the game table and lowered herself into a baseball catcher’s squat.
“There are at least four men in the house,” she said. “One of them has a bat or a stick. I can’t tell about the others. They’re in the kitchen and they’re stealing food.”
Jackie studied the other seven faces and put one arm around Chris. “We have a couple of minutes.”
“I say we wait here,” said Nancy. “We can barricade the door with that club chair behind you.”
“I agree with Nancy,” said Betty. “No sense in bringing the fight to them. We need to stay hidden in here as long as we can.”
“My guns are in the other room,” whispered Pop Vickers. “I moved them there after our nap. I’ve got the shotgun and the handgun. I should go get them. If they find them—”
“I don’t want guns in here,” Betty spat, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible. “I’ve made that—”
Jackie took her arm from around Chris and stabbed her finger at Betty. “I’ve made it clear you don’t get a say,” she snapped. “We’re going to do what we need to do to protect ourselves.”
Betty sank back into her seat, her mouth turned downward in a pout. Her son was next to her, rocking back and forth with his arms folded across his chest.
Jackie closed her eyes for an instant and paid attention to her elevated pulse, then used the game table to push herself to her feet.
“We’ve got two handguns with us,” she told the group. “I have one and so does Nikki. They’re loaded and we’ve both had training.”
“I think Pop is right,” Nikki said. “We need to limit their access to our weapons. The last thing we need is them finding the guns in the other room and using them against us.”
“What do you propose?” Jackie asked.
“I’ll go with Pop to get his guns,” said Nikki. “I’ll be his lookout.”
“We should stay together,” Marie said softly. “I remember watching something on television. They said the best thing to do was stay together in a safe room.”
Jackie looked toward the sound of her daughter’s voice. It was hard to see her in the dark. “Honey,” she said, “that’s a great idea, but we don’t have a safe room.”
“She’s right though,” said Pop. “We’re better off together. We’ll be quick.”
He stood and stepped to the door. Nikki drew her weapon and racked the slide to chamber a round. She joined Pop at the door.
“I’m not coming back in here,” she said. “I’m moving across the hall to one of the bedrooms over there. You’re closer to the stairs; they’ll come here first. I’ll be able to surprise them from behind.”
She slipped out the door and pulled Pop with her. Jackie quickly closed the door. She pulled her weapon from the holster she’d hidden underneath her oversized blouse and kept her trigger finger on the right side of the Glock 17. No need to touch the trigger until she was ready to fire. Beads of cold sweat trailed from her neck down her back.
***
Nikki dragged Pop into the bedroom adjacent to the media room. They stayed low and crept silently across the short distance. Once in the room, Nikki swung the door closed.
“Can you see what you’re doing?” she asked Pop. “Can you get what you need?”
“I think so,” Pop replied.
Unlike the media room, which was windowless, the guest room had a large glass pane that overlooked the yards and houses that bordered the Shepard’s’ property. Pink-hued moonlight filtered in through the window and provided enough light for Nikki to see Pop feeling his way across the room. He pulled a double-barreled shotgun from a large duffel bag, set it on the carpet next to the bag, and fished through another bag until his hand emerged holding a revolver.
“Are they loaded?” Nikki whispered.
“Yes.” Pop gripped one weapon in each hand crouched, then moved past Nikki to the door. “I’m ready.”
Nikki opened the door and slid out first. She took a knee, her weapon scanning the area around her. The Glock’s tritium sights glowed in the dark. It was clear. There was noise downstairs: heavy feet, drawers opening and closing, voices. They were amateurs, whoever they were. She was certain of it. That meant they’d be unprofessional and more likely to do something stupid.
She kept the Glock aimed at the staircase to her left and motioned for Pop to make his move. He slid behind her, brushed past her, and moved briskly to the media room. Nikki backed up, providing cover for him as he slipped inside. Her heart thumped against her chest. She tasted sweat on her upper lip. She pressed her lips together and blew softly.
“C’mon, Nik,” she urged herself. “Keep calm.”
She raised herself to a low crouch and scooted along the hallway to the first of two bedrooms on the opposite end of the second floor. The door was open. She stopped her advance and looked over the railing to the floor below. There were two men in the kitchen. She could see them. Both were armed. She couldn’t identify the weapons, but could see the dark outline of handguns extending from the end of their arms.
There was more noise coming from a part of the downstairs she couldn’t see. It was probably the master bedroom. That made the most sense. The more she listened to them bumble their way through the first floor, the more convinced she became that the amateurs were convinced they were alone. There was no way they’d be so loud and careless if they thought anyone was in the house. That could be an advantage. Nikki raised her weapon and thought for an instant about putting holes in the douchebags in the kitchen, then thought better of it. She had no clue how many more armed men were in the house. Opening fire on them might draw more fire than she could handle and it certainly gave up the element of surprise that now favored her people.
Nikki lowered the Glock and moved deliberately past the open door undetected. Like the guest room, this bedroom had a window. The shade was drawn and only a nearly imperceptible trace of light leaked into the room around its edges. The rest of the room was dark. Nikki stood up straight and felt around for the furniture. Her fingers found the footboard of Marie’s sleigh bed and the desk chair opposite it. She thought for a moment about closing the door, but decided against it and crept further back into the room.
She heard the creak of footsteps coming from the opposite end of the hall. When she sank low into her position in the bedroom, she couldn’t see anyone. The creak wasn’t coming from the hall. It was coming from the stairs.
Someone was coming up!
***
They’d gotten what they could from the kitchen and the pantry. Plenty of food, a nice collection of knives, and a brand-new manual can opener. The master bedroom didn’t offer much: some medicine, some hygiene products, and a leather pouch with nail files. Justin hadn’t found any jewelry yet. He had hopes as he climbed the stairs, pulling his weight up the steps with the help of the stained oak bannister.
Palero was steps behind him. Greasy and the others were picking through the office at the front of the house. Justin shot the bluish-white beam of light up the stairs onto the landing on the second floor. It was dark and quiet. He moved the light from the right to the left, trying to get a layout of the second floor.
&nbs
p; “Check the rooms to the left,” he said to Palero. “I’ll get this one on the right.”
Palero moved past him at the landing and walked cautiously toward the twin rooms at the far end of the hallway. Justin swept the light to the right and found an open door leading to a bedroom. He aimed the light at the floor and saw a half dozen bags and suitcases stacked against the walls. One bag, a long duffel, was unzipped and in the middle of the floor. An open backpack was next to it. It was obvious that whoever was in the room had taken a few choice belongings and left in a hurry.
Justin knelt on the carpet. He set his handgun next to him and spread open the backpack’s zipper. He reached into the bag and rifled through it, using the flashlight to search for whatever was left inside. There were some AA batteries and a smashed but unopened package of sugar-free gum. He took the gum and left the batteries, shining the light toward the bags against the wall. There was bound to be something good there.
He emptied a pillowcase on the unmade bed and moved back to the suitcases. He was about to open the first one when he heard footsteps outside the room. He spun around and shone the light on Greasy.
“What are you doing?” he asked the kid. “You’re supposed to be downstairs.”
Greasy stepped into the room. “We got everything that was good,” he said, the bat resting on his shoulder. “I figured we’d help you up here.”
Justin tossed the kid the flashlight. “Take whatever you want from these bags here.” He picked up his gun and crossed the room, shoving the pillowcase in Greasy’s chest as he squeezed past him in the doorway. He walked out into the hall to see Palero walking toward him empty-handed aside from the gun.
Justin sighed. “What? You didn’t find anything? Nothing?”
“I only checked the first room,” he said. “Nothing in there. It’s a boy’s room, as best I could tell. A kid. No valuables or anything.”
Justin walked along the hallway to meet Palero halfway. “What about the other room? You checked that out yet?”
“No. I heard talking, so I came out here to see what was happening. Everything good?”
Justin waved his gun at the room behind Palero. “Yeah. But you need to check in there.”
Palero used his chin to point over Justin’s shoulder. “What about that room? The door is closed. You been in there?”
Justin looked over his shoulder at the door and then back to Palero. “No. What does it matter?”
“I’m just saying—”
Justin raised his voice. “What exactly are you saying?”
Palero lowered his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “I’m not saying anything.”
“That’s what I thought,” Justin growled. “Now get in there and see what you can find.”
Palero backtracked to check out the open room. Justin moved to the closed door behind him and spun the handle. He opened it and stepped into the dark. As his eyes adjusted, he felt a gun pressed between his shoulder blades.
“Drop the weapon,” said a woman’s voice. “I don’t want blood on my new carpet.”
***
Jackie had pressed herself against the wall next to the door. As soon as it opened and the intruder stepped inside, she’d made her move. With her back to the open door, she jabbed the weapon at the man and repeated her demand. “Drop it, and raise your hands above your head.”
“Hold on,” he said. “No need to shoot. Hold on.”
“I’m not kidding,” said Jackie. “Drop the gun.”
The man raised his hands, but held onto his weapon. He wasn’t listening.
Jackie snarled at him through clenched teeth. “I’m telling you—” She stopped when she felt something pressing against the back of her head.
“You need to drop your weapon,” said a man standing behind her. “Bend over and put it on the floor.”
Jackie focused on the back of the bald head in front of her. She wasn’t putting down her gun. She spoke to the man at the end of her barrel. “Tell your man to take the gun off my head. He has three seconds. Then I’m shooting you. Three, two—”
“Don’t drop the gun, Palero,” said the bald man. “I see other people in here. You keep—”
Pop Vickers emerged from a dark corner of the room, holding his shotgun tight against his shoulder. He spoke from the corner of his mouth, the weapon aimed at Palero’s head. “He better drop it,” said Pop, “or you’re gonna get a face full of buckshot.”
The bald man laughed. “We got us a Mexican standoff,” he said. “Everybody’s got a gun; nobody wants to shoot.”
“I’ll shoot,” said Nikki. She appeared from the hallway and pushed the Glock into Palero’s neck. “I’ve got no problem shooti—”
“Nikki!” yelled Pop. “Move!”
Nikki instinctively moved to her left, avoiding the wild swing of a bat coming from her right. As she pivoted away from the violent swipe, she fell back onto the floor and took aim at the dark figure who’d tried to knock her head off. Still gripping the Glock with both hands, she applied firm pressure to the trigger and three quick blasts found the target, hitting the bat-swinger center mass.
He grunted and shrieked, stumbling backward into the guest room, but not before his swing connected with Palero. The bat had connected with extreme force onto the back of Palero’s head, cracking his skull and instantly knocking him unconscious. His body limply fell into Jackie and shoved him into the bald man. For Jackie, the next few moments moved in slow motion.
She held onto her weapon, but with her finger not on the trigger, she wasn’t able to fire at the bald man as he spun and tackled her, tumbling into the side of a chair, his weight pressing down on her as they both struggled to regain their leverage.
She could hear screams and people calling her name, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying, how they might be warning her. The bald man groped for her gun and managed to shake it from her hand. He drove his elbow in her side while she blindly clawed at his back and pushed upward on his jaw and nose. One of his hands found her throat and squeezed. Jackie grappled with both hands, trying to release his grip. She couldn’t. All of it was happening too fast. She kicked her legs, trying to use her knees to jab at him. The pressure on her throat intensified. And then, as quickly as he’d subdued her, there was a deafening bang, piercing screams, and the pressure was gone. He was off of her. Jackie grabbed at her throat and coughed, gasping for air. Her vision was blurred, her mind clouded, her ears ringing loudly from the gunshot. She sat up, still dazed. Gun smoke stung her nostrils.
A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched. “Mom,” said an accompanying voice, “are you okay?”
She felt the smothering embrace of Marie and Chris. She couldn’t see them, but recognized their touch, their scents. The tension in her body eased slightly and she wrapped her arms around them both.
“Jackie, are you okay?”
She tried swallowing. It took her three tries and was painful. She reached for her throat. “I-I think so. My ears are ringing. It’s hard to hear.”
Pop was standing over her, the shotgun in his hand. The outline of his dark figure was vaguely visible from the ambient moonlight filtering in from the hallway. He reached out and offered her a hand. Jackie took his hand, and Pop and the children helped her to her feet. Both Marie and Chris were crying, their bodies shuddering against hers. Jackie kissed each of them on their foreheads and whispered in their ears hoarsely, “I’m okay,” she said. “I love you. I love you.”
Jackie cleared her throat and tried focusing in the dim light. She looked down and saw the heap of the bald man at her side. “Thank you, Pop. If you hadn’t shot him…”
“I didn’t shoot him,” said Pop. “With this buckshot, I was afraid I’d hurt other people. I couldn’t shoot.”
“Then who did?” Jackie asked, her ears still ringing.
“Betty.”
She thought she hadn’t heard him correctly and stretched her jaw to ease the pressure in her ears. “Who?”
; “Betty.”
Jackie looked past Pop and found Betty standing behind him, the pistol in her trembling hand. She took two steps past Pop and wrapped her arms around her gun-shy neighbor.
“Thank you, Betty,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I’ve never—I couldn’t—” Betty gulped, her voice shaky. “I mean—”
“It’s okay,” said Jackie, hugging her more tightly. “It’ll be okay.” She looked past her neighbor and saw Brian sitting on the sofa, his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his face buried.
Nikki stepped into the open doorway, interrupting the conversation. She was breathing heavily. “There were others,” she said. “They were downstairs, I guess. I ran down there. They ran out the front door.”
“These guys aren’t running anywhere,” said Pop. “They’re done.”
“C’mon.” Nikki waved to the kids. “Marie, Chris, come downstairs with me. Help me clean up the mess they made.”
They looked at their mother and she nodded her approval. They followed Nikki out of the room, stepping over the bodies on their way to the stairs.
Jackie tried swallowing again. It hurt, but not as much as her earlier attempt. She kicked the bald man’s body and stepped over to the one called Palero. The back of his head was smashed, his eyes fixed open, his tongue hanging from his mouth. Her stomach lurched and she braced herself against a sudden wave of nausea that crept up her aching throat. She swallowed the creeping bile and the stinging taste of acid.
“What do we do with this?” she asked. “What do we do with these two?”
“Three,” said Pop. “Nikki shot one. He’s in the guest room, I think.”
Jackie rubbed her forehead and ran her hands through her hair. It was all too surreal. Her children had witnessed too much. She had too. So, had Brian Brown. So, had everyone. She sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t dwell on the past, even if it had just happened. Her job was to look forward.
She sighed. “All right, first things first. We get some light in here. We get rid of the bodies. Then we go from there. Plan?”