Split Screen Scream - Debra Parmley

by Special Forces - Operation Alpha

  Total opposites, he thought as he noted her reactions to the movie. She was so caught up in it she didn’t notice anything but the movie. Unaware of her surroundings. That was a state of being he no longer remembered how it felt. Reed had grown up in a neighborhood where boys had to fight or be picked on, so he’d learned early on to fight and to pay attention to who was where at all times, when outside his house. For a moment, he viewed her as one might a child or any other innocent civilian who hadn’t learned to be wary. He was glad to see her relaxing and enjoying the movie.

  This was why men like him fought. To protect the innocent and preserve a peaceful way of life. These were some of the reasons he fought. The actor Cole Kennick played roles in which he did the same, which was one reason Reed enjoyed his movies.

  Some feeling he couldn’t have named other than to call it a sixth sense, made him turn his focus to a man dressed all in black. Definitely not one of the staff. Another patron, perhaps. He stood at the far right corner of the theater. Something about him was very off.

  The man turned to face the crowd and began to move his arm upward—

  Fuck.

  Reed went calm and cool even as he thought the word, his SEAL training kicking in, knowing the man was going to shoot. Everything around Reed slowed.

  “Everyone down!” he yelled as his hand landed on the pretty blonde’s shoulder, forcing her to the ground.

  The shooter raised his gun to fire.

  Chapter 2

  Christie didn’t understand what was happening as the handsome man next to her shouted and the sharp reports of gunfire—not coming from the screen, but somewhere in the theater—erupted. At the same time, the man’s strong, warm hand closed over her bare shoulder hard, pulling her away from her seat, pushing her forward and down onto her knees on the sticky theater floor.

  “Stay down,” he said, his tone brisk and harsh. His right hand reached for the gun he carried in a belt holster behind his back. “Stay here.”

  She followed his directions, crouching low, with her hands over her head, so scared she was shaking, but she couldn’t resist looking at the shooter through the small space between the seats.

  Dressed in a black hoodie, she saw only his tall, lean figure and a long gun pointing toward them.

  Oh my God. We’re all going to die. Her thoughts raced as the shots continued. I’m not ready, Lord. Please don’t let me die now.

  Handsome man leapt over the seats in front of them, firing, up and over the crowd, his aim deadly, his body moving in a straight line, charging the shooter.

  The man went down.

  The confrontation was over in seconds, which dragged like minutes. Less time than any of them would have guessed, other than Reed, who’d been well trained by the Navy to eliminate this kind of threat. He knew what could happen in just a few seconds and exactly how fast he needed to be.

  Reed hoped like hell that nobody had been killed. The shooter had gotten off a few shots before he went down.

  Women’s screams still filled the air along with crying.

  A man called out, “I’ve been shot.”

  The silence following the gunshots gave Reed a chance to take a deep breath and added to Reed’s sense of calm. A few people raised their heads to look at the shooter. He reached into his left pocket as his right thumb pressed a button on his gun. The empty magazine fell to the ground as he slapped in a new one and kept moving forward, down to where the gunman lay on the floor. He’d make sure the man didn’t get up and start shooting again. He had to make sure he’d delivered the kill shot he thought he had. Still, he’d take no chances.

  First thing he did was kick away and remove all weapons out of the man’s reach. Then he bent to check the man’s pulse.

  Nothing. The man was dead.

  Reed pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911, thankful he’d ignored instructions to hand his phone in along with all the others. Likely, he was the only one in the theater able to call. Something the shooter had probably counted on. Like counting on all the patrons to be unarmed.

  “Riverton dispatch,” a female voice answered.

  “I need to report the live shooter at Riverton Cinema One, is now down.”

  “A live shooter at Riverton Cinema One,” the voice repeated. “Did you say down?”

  “Yes, one live shooter down. No others in sight.”

  “Who am I speaking to?”

  “Reed Tindal. I’m a Chief Petty Officer with the US Navy.”

  “Are you armed, Mr. Tindal?”

  “Yes. One patron has been shot. I’ll assess and report back. We’re going to need at least two ambulances.”

  “Please stay on the line, Mr. Tindal. Police and ambulances are on their way.”

  He moved back to where the pretty blonde was still crouching on the ground. “You can get up now. It’s safe.”

  She rose slowly and shakily. “Safe,” she repeated as if to reassure herself.

  “Yes,” he answered. “You’re safe. What’s your name?”

  “Christie Anderson.”

  “Okay Christie.” He handed her his phone. “Take this. Stay on the line with dispatch. I’m going to check on the wounded.”

  The blonde blinked as if waking from a fog, but then took the phone. “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  She put his phone to her ear and said, “Hello?”

  “Where is Mr. Tindal, and who am I speaking to?” the dispatcher asked.

  Mr. Tindal, that was his name. She filed his name away in her memory as the man who’d saved her life. “He’s checking for wounded, but I’ll stay on the line,” Christie said. “I’m Christie.”

  “All right, Christie. Stay with me until the police arrive, and let me know what’s happening.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Christie watched Mr. Tindal moving quickly, his glance going up and down aisles, while he reassured theater patrons that everything was over and would be okay now. His expression hardened when he found the man who’d called out that he’d been shot.

  The dispatcher asked, “Ask Mr. Tindal how many are injured?”

  “Okay. Hang on. I have to move down to where he is right now. He’s with a man who got shot.”

  “Keep talking to me. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Well, I won’t really know ‘til I get down there.”

  “Okay, just stay on the line.”

  “I will.” Christie started moving down toward where Mr. Tidal was. The wounded man who’d shouted out was in a theater seat and Mr. Tindal was getting the nearby patrons to move out of the way so he could get to him.

  As Christie got nearer, she saw the man had been shot in the arm. Blood was everywhere and the man’s skin was pale as if he’s already lost too much blood. And the man in the row behind him, also shot, bleeding from his arm. She breathed in sharp, the images nearly stopping her.

  The dispatcher, who’d been listening said, “What is it? Christie are you all right?”

  Nausea hit her stomach and she pressed her free hand to her belly to try to calm it back down. She couldn’t get sick at the sight of blood, she had to pull herself together. “Yes.” She swallowed hard. “There’s just a lot of blood. Two men have been shot. I’m down here with Mr. Tindal now.”

  Mr. Tindal pulled something out of his pocket then started to unwind a strap of some kind. He opened the thing into what looked like a circle.

  “He’s got something he’s making into a circle.”

  “That’s probably a tourniquet.”

  “I feel like I should be helping him,” Christie said.

  “Do you have any medical training?”

  “No.”

  “If he’s in the Navy, he may have been trained as a corpsman. He’ll know what to do until the ambulance arrives. You just stay on the line.”

  In the distance, Christie could hear the sirens. “I hear sirens now.”

  “They’re almost there. You just hang on.”

  Christie reached
Mr. Tindal, and he glanced up and gave her a nod. “Put the call on speaker, so you can put it down and help me.”

  “Okay.” She tapped the speaker setting and said, “You’re on speaker phone now, so you can hear both of us. I need to help him.”

  “Tell me what’s happening,” the dispatcher said.

  Mr. Tindal responded, “We’ve got two men shot, both in the arm. Need tourniquets. I have two with me.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out another tourniquet, and handed it to Christie. “You’re going to put this one on that guy while I do this guy.”

  Christie stared at him. “I don’t know anything about tourniquets.”

  “It’s not hard,” Mr. Tindal said. “Open it up. And hurry.”

  Looking at it, Christie found the ends and let the rest of the band fall, opening up easily into a circle. She hurried into the isle behind the first wounded man and saw blood all over the second man and on the empty seat that had been cleared so Mr. Tindal could get to him. But Mr. Tindal was only one man and he’d said to hurry.

  “Now, put it on his arm. Get as high up as you can get without going up onto his shoulder.”

  The wounded man whimpered as Christie awkwardly complied, squatting on her high heels, trying not to cause more pain.

  “Now what?”

  “You need to cinch it down tight,” Mr. Tindal said. “Watch me.”

  Christie paid close attention as Mr. Tindal tightened the strap, doubled it back, and then began twisting a metal rod like a windlass before looping it into a strap of Velcro.

  Mr. Tindal looked her in the eyes. “It needs to be as tight as possible. Better to hurt him now than let him bleed to death.”

  Christie felt the blood drain from her face. The only way to get enough leverage to turn that tourniquet properly the way Mr. Tindal was doing was to kneel on the bloody seat next to the man who’d been shot and put her weight into it.

  Her new dress would be ruined. But she had to do it anyway.

  She turned back to the man she was working on, her hands fumbling on their own. This near to the man, the stench of blood made her stomach roils, but she pressed on. She tightened the strap then started twisting the windlass. With each turn, the man’s face screwed up tighter in pain, but she didn’t stop until it was too tight for her to turn, and she strapped it down.

  Mr. Tindal watched her appraisingly and nodded his approval.

  Good. She exhaled. I must have done it right. I hope this man makes it.

  “Both tourniquets are on,” Mr. Tindal said. “ETA on those ambulances?”

  “Three more minutes,” the dispatcher said.

  Police officers streamed into the theater, alert, armed and ready for trouble.

  Mr. Tindal sat back on his heels, having finished with the civilian he’d been treating.

  The first officer approached him and said, “Reed Tindal?”

  “That’s me.” He nodded at the man he’d treated. “This one is wounded and there’s another.” He pointed to the other man.

  The officer nodded. “Are you armed?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Tindal stood slowly. “Behind my right hip.”

  “Ok. I’m gonna ask you step out of the isle and down the stairs.”

  Christie noted that the police officers had arrived with guns drawn. They’d eased off but not holstered their weapons.

  Mr. Tindal obeyed, moving out of the isle and down the stairs followed by the first officer.

  Was all this really necessary? Couldn’t they see he wasn’t the bad guy? He was the man who’d stopped the bad guy. Everyone in the theater owed their lives to Mr. Tindal.

  “Turn and face the wall, please,” the officer said.

  Mr. Tindal automatically pressed his palms against the wall and didn’t seem upset.

  “This the gun you used tonight?”

  “Yes sir,” Mr. Tindal said. “It’s reloaded. Habit.”

  “Right,” the officer said.

  Mr. Tindal waited in silence as the officer disarmed him and looked at the gun.

  Reed faced the wall and waited for the officer to follow procedure. Now that the police were here, he could stand down. He waited as the officer disarmed him and thoughts of Christie ran through his head.

  As Reed had watched Christie appraisingly, he’d reassessed his first impression of her. It was always a make or break moment, especially for civilians who’d never seen this kind of thing before. Most people were much more capable than they thought, and it always cheered him to see them realize it. This petite, throwback blonde had done better than many sailors he’d seen reacting to carnage their first time. She listened well, didn’t question what had to be done, and did it to the best of her ability.

  Maybe she isn’t as much of a “take care of me” type female as she appears to be. She hadn’t fallen apart. She’d followed directions without getting emotional. Though not the “Step up, I’ll take care of things myself” type of female, perhaps there’s more to her than just her looks and femininity. She’s willing and capable of taking care of others.

  Now she intrigued him. He wanted to get to know her better, find out more about her. However, this wasn’t the time. He waited for the officer to finish.

  His Sig Sauer P229 had been properly decocked, and the hammer was down. The officer had only to unload it. “I’ve also got a knife on my ankle,” he said, knowing a pat down was the procedure and it was best to tell where any weapons were so he could be disarmed.

  “Thank you,” the officer said after patting him down and removing the knife. “You can turn around now.”

  “Thanks,” Reed said. He’d expected all this and wasn’t concerned by it. Now they’d have to wait for detectives and crime scene investigators to arrive and then he’d have to answer a lot of questions. He didn’t look forward to that part and what would turn into a long night.

  He glanced over to where Christie was to see how she was doing. She was sitting quietly while a female officer spoke to her. The bottom of her dress and her hose where her knees had met the bloody seat cushion were stained with blood. Too bad that sexy dress had been ruined. She looked hot in that dress.

  The EMP’s were here now, bringing in stretchers for the wounded men and everyone made way for them. Wasn’t much room in a theater for two stretchers and the men were in theater seats but they made it work and soon the two men were out of the theater. Now the detectives would really get to work and the questioning would begin.

  Christie never remembered much more than a blur of color and sound after it was all over. Uniformed police, white-shirted EMT’s and paramedics, detectives in business casual suits—all of them asking questions. Are you all right? Where were you sitting? What happened next? What did you hear? Did he say anything? How many shots…

  She mumbled out what she could remember. There was a big gap where she’d later realize she’d been too petrified with fear to move or think.

  Then after, she remembered Mr. Tindal asking for her help, handing her his phone, and the tourniquets. Following what he told her and copying what he was doing to save a life. She’d done that. She too had saved a life.

  It all seemed surreal now. Hard to believe it had happened, though it had.

  When there was nothing left to tell, and she’d been wrung completely dry, a detective finally gave her a business card.

  “Go home and get some rest,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Christie numbly took the card, said, “Yes, sir,” and turned to leave. Someone holding the basket with all the patrons remaining cell phones held the basket out to her and asked her to find hers.

  It was the only one with a pink cover. She picked it up. “That’s mine,” she said before dropping the phone in her purse without looking at it. She moved as if through a foggy night.

  As she passed Mr. Tindal being questioned, she heard the detective thank him for helping. “Way I hear, it could a been a lot worse. You saved a lot of people here tonight.”

  “Just doing my job.�
�� Mr. Tindal shrugged as if this was the kind of thing he did every day. But then, maybe it was.

  Christie got behind the wheel of her car and sat still for several minutes before moving. Inside the pale blue Chevy, it was quiet. No one was talking; no one was moving about. There were no flashing lights or people who’d been shot and needed tourniquets. There were no women screaming and no gunshots being fired. There were no more men shot and nearly dying.

  The quiet in the car calmed everything in a way quiet never had, but she only briefly registered what it was doing.

  She simply sat. And then, after a while, she started the car without really thinking and began the drive toward home. The red light, which reminded her to get gas, was still on.

  Gas. That’s right. I need gas. Now. Won’t make it home.

  She drove until she saw the first gas station on her route, one she’d never been to before, and pulled in.

  Pulling up to the pump, she parked and turned off her car. Her purse had fallen off the seat onto the floor, and she unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned down to get it. Taking her purse, she reached in for her wallet, found her credit card and then got out of the car. She moved to the back of the car and opened the fuel door, then unscrewed the fuel cap and let it hang by its cord. She turned toward the pump and stopped in front of it to insert her credit card, but with her hand shaking, she missed and dropped the card on the ground.

  Driving down the street, Reed saw Christie’s white dress with the red polka dots as she stood on those high red heels at the gas pump, getting ready to put gas into her car. A pale blue Chevy. She bent down to pick up something on the ground, and he got a good look at her in that dress and high heels.