Dale was jumping up and down, his hands on his head. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Did you see that?!” he screamed.
“Who is this guy?” Mako said, his eyes stuck on the monitor.
Bullneck shrugged. “Off-duty cop, retired military, pissed-off citizen, and future poster child for concealed carry, who knows? But he’s definitely the fly in the ointment.”
“Yeah, but why does he keep going into places with no exits?” asked George, exasperated.
Chapter Twelve
Zavier pulled the restroom door open and moved quickly inside. His heart lurched. Maddie was not there. He started to curse when his eyes fell on a door off to the side—the maintenance closet. With a breath, he quelled his rising hope. He moved to the door to open it, but it was locked. He slammed his shoulder against it to force it open, but it just rattled and held. As the sound of the rattled door quieted, a muffled whimper rose.
Zavier bent down and put his mouth close to the door. “Maddie?” he said in a sharp whisper.
The click of a lock being turned sounded off, and the door flew open. Maddie rushed into his chest. They did not have time. They needed to move, but Zavier could do nothing but hold her tight. Tears of relief poured from his eyes. He felt Maddie’s own tears as she sobbed in his chest.
He let the moment linger, then pushed her away. Shit, he thought. One side of her face was bloody—blood that had rubbed off on her from the shooter Zavier had used as a human shield. Without a word, he grabbed a wad of paper towels from the dispenser, wet them, and wiped her face. He then splashed water on his own face and wiped off the blood.
The blood on her face had washed off easily, but not the glowing fear. Zavier bent back down. “Listen, honeybunch,” he said, hoping using her nickname would calm her, “we don’t have much time. We have to be very quiet and move quickly.”
“Are . . . Mommy and Daddy dead?” she asked in a whimper.
Her trembling voice nearly broke Zavier in two, but he had to stay focused. There would be time enough for comfort later. “No. They got out—” The sudden shift on her face stopped him cold. Her eyes widened and tears pooled at their corners again. “No, no, sweetie. Your mom and dad did not leave you behind. Your dad saved your mom’s life. He kept her from getting shot, but he got shot protecting her. Your mom had to get him out of here, but I promised to get you to her. That’s the only reason she left. Because I promised her. And what do you know about my promises?”
Calm descended on Maddie’s face, and her eyes became resolute. “You always keep them,” she answered.
Zavier pulled the magazine out of the rifle he was carrying to check the ammo. It was empty. He threw it to the floor, pulled his CZ back out, and reloaded. He silently thanked the gun gods above for making him paranoid enough to always carry a spare, even if his CZ carried nineteen bullets a clip. He racked the slide and turned to Maddie.
“Listen, stay here.” Maddie started to shake her head. “No, no, Maddie. I need you to do what I say. It’s the only way we can get out. You have to do what I say, hear me?”
“Yes, Uncle Z.”
“I need to see if there are bad men outside in the hall. I will be back. If you hear gunfire, get back in the closet until you hear my voice. OK?”
“OK.”
She did not sound remotely OK, but there was nothing to do for now. Zavier eased the door open and slipped out. The restroom was at a junction that went toward the main hall to his right. It was the direction he had come from originally. He looked around the corner and saw that two new shooters had found the bodies of the men he had killed.
He sat still as the two men spoke rapid fire with each other. Their presence confirmed his fear that there were more, a lot more, shooters in the theater. He suspected they were standing guard in each of the theaters, keeping people from leaving. The theater he had been in was clear, but he could not walk in the direction of the two arguing shooters without gunplay. A gun fight would draw more shooters into the main hall. He could not afford that.
The shooters stopped arguing, shouldered their weapons, and stalked off in the opposite direction. Zavier wasted no time. He began making his way to the restroom and motioned for Maddie to follow him. Grabbing her hand, he led her down the hall to their left.
Within minutes of George’s video feed, thousands had started watching the day’s events online. Then millions in the US and across the world began watching as the major news outlets started broadcasting the feed. That did not last long.
The networks cut from the feed and went to more traditional coverage. They hastily gathered experts to pontificate via video conference, cutting to local network affiliate reporters on scene at the Palace parking lot, and best of all, vacuous question-and-answer sessions with politicians.
Except no one was watching all of that.
When the networks stopped broadcasting the video feed, people turned to the web. Millions saw an unknown male kill a terrorist and save the life of two adults and their children. They saw him nearly get shot to pieces, only to come flying out of the ceiling to land on one terrorist and then kill two more.
Social media exploded like a nuclear blast as the world watched an episode of 24 unfolding in front of their eyes. The news of an unknown hero killing off terrorists in the theater sent good taste and sense flying from the heads of network news directors. This was too big. In short order, nearly all the networks ignored corporate and government requests and started rebroadcasting the feed. US Cyber Command kept trying to bring the Internet feed down, but could not. George’s constantly recycling firewall rebuffed every attempt.
George changed the view from one maximized camera view to three. One focused on the door that Zavier had disappeared into, and two others were glued on the areas with camera coverage closest to his location. When Zavier stepped out of the restroom and walked toward where the new terrorists had found the bodies of their slain companions, millions screamed at their televisions, phones, and computer screens for him to not go in that direction. Then millions collectively sighed as they saw him stop and then watch the two terrorists begin looking for him in the opposite direction. The reprieve was short.
Exhaled breaths caught in the throat of millions of viewers as they saw a small brown-haired girl step from behind the door and follow him.
The voices and arguing were louder than when Bullneck and his two sidekicks had first burst into George’s room. Two agents from the Counterterrorism and Criminal Exploitation Unit—what the dispatcher had called “CTCEU”—had finally arrived at his home. They wanted to immediately take charge of the video feed and shut it down. Now Bullneck and the other two officers stood between him and the CTCEU officers, refusing to let them cut off the feed.
“Dammit, listen to me, you stupid suit. The thread is out already. We cannot stop the video from being seen. If we cut it here, all the other streams will still be going. It’s . . . what did you call it, George?” Bullneck asked.
“It’s viral.”
“It’s what he said. But we can still direct what the cameras show.”
The CTCEU officer was thin and weedy with round glasses. He was a good foot shorter than Bullneck and well behind him in weight and muscle mass. It didn’t matter. He was used to giving orders to local police, and he was used to them doing what he told them to do.
He stepped right up to Bullneck.
“I don’t care, Officer,” he said, then paused to look at the name on the badge hanging on Bullneck’s chest, “Basava. I’m in charge of this scene, and I want that connection severed.”
“They need to know what’s what when they go in, you jackass.”
“There are bombs rigged to the doors, Officer Basava. They are not going in. Now move.”
The officer tried to step around Basava, but Basava followed, keeping in his way. “Keep that feed going, George,” he shot over his shoulder.
The officer stepped back and pulled out his phone.
“Don’t bother calling my su
perior, desk jockey. I’m still not moving or letting you shut this feed down. George, you keep pulling up the different camera views. They need the intel.”
“Shit, he’s got a little girl,” said George from behind him.
Bullneck—now “Basava” to all in the room—whipped his head around to the monitor. “What?”
“No, no don’t go that way, dude,” said Mako.
The argument between rival law enforcement ceased for the moment as they watched a little girl follow the man down the hallway. George switched to a camera showing the opposite end of the hall.
“He’s got trouble on this end too—and a kid to worry about now, Officer Basava. Shit,” George finished.
The hall was long and curved to the left. Every few feet, Zavier looked over his shoulder to be sure no one was coming behind them. He tried to ignore the impact of seeing scattered human bodies and splattered blood on Maddie. As a young hunter, she was no stranger to blood, but the blood of a rabbit and stepping over or around human bodies was another matter. He could only pray the long-term effects would be minimal.
Zavier paused at a theater entrance opening. He motioned to Maddie to squat, and they quickly crouch-walked past the doors. There were shooters in every theater, of that he had no doubt. Whether they were keeping watch by the entrance doors, he didn’t know. It was best to stay out of sight. Maddie moved behind him, silent and quiet, the sweat on her hands the only sign of her fear.
They came to the start of the bend in the hall. Zavier knew that once around the curve there would be exit doors at the hall’s end. The curve presented a problem. He could not slink up to a corner and glance around to see if the exit doors were guarded. There was no corner to look around. He would be exposed the moment he got halfway around the bend.
Reaching back with one arm, he pulled Maddie closer to the wall. He shuffled a few more feet forward and then stopped. Bending down, he moved his lips to Maddie’s ear. “I’m gonna go around this hall. You stay here. When you hear the shooting stop, you come running. Understand?”
She understood, but he could also tell she did not want him to leave her. She nodded her head anyway. He gave her a smile to reassure her and then turned toward the direction they needed to go. Zavier moved his gun to his right hand. He would be able to bring it to bear faster without the encumbrance of the wall on his left side. He was not worried about accuracy. He had become a proficient shooter in both hands long ago.
Zavier sidled along the left side of the wall as far as he could before anyone on the other side would be able to see him. Reaching as far as he could go, he took a deep breath through his nose as he pictured exactly what he wanted his body to do when he rounded the corner.
He pushed away from the wall and moved with short, quick steps, his hands extended in a shooter’s grip. There was one shooter to his left. A detached part of him smiled at the shooters’ tactical error. They had spread apart from each other so one could see, right away, people trying to escape. But anyone you could see right away could see you also. Panicked and fear-ridden theater patrons would run right into the ambush, not realizing the danger until too late. Zavier was not running, and he had no fear.
As soon as he had a clear sight picture, he fired two rounds at the shooter to his right. The shots were as clean and precise as the ones he had fired earlier—they struck the shooter in the upper chest and neck. A split second later, Zavier dropped to one knee and pivoted toward the shooter in the left corner.
If the shooter had a shotgun, it would have been all over for Zavier. A shotgun blast would have sent a blanket of lead pellets through the space Zavier was occupying. As it was, the shooter had an AR-15. He had taken aim and fired a moment after his companion went down and he saw Zavier. He shot for the chest and head. Zavier’s move to the ground on one knee left an empty space where the bullets flew through, striking the wall behind him.
Zavier aimed and fired. The result: the same as the shots fired two seconds before, in the upper chest and neck. He turned and yelled, “Maddie, come to me!”
Maddie came running around the bend toward him, her little legs pumping like she was chasing a soccer ball. Zavier kept an eye on the closest theater doors to either side of the hall. He was positive there were shooters in the theaters and knew he would be converged on in moments.
“Get through those doors and run,” he said to Maddie the moment she arrived in front of him. Without hesitation, she ran toward the exits. Zavier kept scanning back and forth, ready for any movement that denoted a shooter emerging from one of the theaters. When he didn’t see outside light from the exit doors, he glanced toward them. Maddie was standing rock still in front of them.
He wanted to scream at her to get through those damn doors, but could not give any signal to any shooter. He settled for a high-pitched hiss. Maddie turned toward him and just pointed at the exits.
Exasperated, Zavier sidestepped his way to Maddie, his eyes continuing to scan left and right. Each second they lingered was another second the shooters had to come at them from all sides.
“Maddie, get through those—” The words died the moment he saw the exit doors. Improvised bombs were attached to them.
“Fuck.”
“Swear jar.”
Zavier scrunched up his face and glared down at Maddie.
“Really? Really!”
“In times of chaos, one must have a calm mind. Cursing shows an uncalm mind.” The words were spoken rote, like she was reciting from a rule book.
“Do not recite me back to myself, young lady. Not right now!”
Further words were forgotten as Zavier detected movement from one of the theater alcoves. They had run out of time.
Chapter Thirteen
With his gun hand snapped up, Zavier stepped in front of Maddie and fired two shots into the alcove. He felt Maddie wince. He hoped it was from the effect of a gun firing so close to her without ear protection, and not from a bullet.
Having no time to check her, Zavier advanced on the door. If he had any advantage, he needed to press it now. He could not allow the two of them to get caught between two shooters.
Zavier sent four more rounds at the door. The nine-millimeter rounds ripped into the cheap compressed wood, sending wood chips spewing on both sides. Even though the door was cheap pulp and hollow, it was still enough to slow the kinetic energy of the CZ’s bullets. There was no way Zavier was going to trust that he had scored a hit.
He sent another round into the small round window that was set in the door three quarters of the way up. Squeezing his eyes closed to protect them from the flying glass, Zavier stepped to the door. Pointing his gun through the window, he shot blindly three times and was rewarded with a grunt of pain from the other side. He pushed through the door. Without needing to tell her, Maddie followed behind him.
He would have preferred she stay in the hall, but that could be equally as dangerous as following him into a gun fight. “Stay by the door,” he yelled over his shoulder.
Then he was through the door. He saw a shooter on the floor in front of him, clutching his leg with one hand and trying to prop up a shotgun with the other. Zavier sent two shots into the shooter’s head. Sensing movement at the end of the entrance walkway, he dropped to one knee and fired a round. He saw a quick body movement behind the wall.
Zavier fired another round to keep the hallway clear and moved to the threshold between the walkway and the theater room. Crouching low, he stuck his head around the corner. Automatic fire ripped by in the air above him. The rapid tap-tap, pause, and then tap-tap told him it was an AK-47.
Zavier dropped flat to the ground and pushed himself back behind the wall. Plaster and wood exploded around him, proving what he already knew. The four-inch thick wall that ran along the side of the main stairs was no protection. He had to stay as flat to the floor as possible. In the background he could faintly hear Maddie screaming.
When it was clear the shooter had paused to reload, Zavier was up and around the
corner. A flash of bone-white smiling teeth was all the warning Zavier had.
There was a second shooter. He took aim at Zavier and let loose a barrage of rounds. Zavier turned his stepping movement into a twisting body drop. His shoulder hit the ground first, causing the side of his head to snap forward into the floor. For a moment all he could see were bursts of color.
The need to melt into the floor warred with the mental admonishment of his foolishness. He had rushed in to keep from getting surrounded in the main hallway and was now trapped in the theater. Worse, he was separated from Maddie.
Zavier cycled through his options. He could not outshoot two shooters. He knew sooner or later a bullet, or several of them, would find their mark. He also knew the sounds of the fight would send more shooters to his location to help. Once that happened, it was a wrap for him and Maddie. The thought sent ice down his spine. Resolve froze into place, and adrenaline surged through him.
Zavier crawled to a shot-up body near him. He pulled the innocent victim on top of him but scrounged up his legs first. He kicked the body up and away from himself. The shooter, thinking the hurled body was Zavier making a run for it, immediately shifted the rifle fire toward the body.
Zavier rolled to his right, sprang up, and fired. There was a grunt and pause in the automatic fire. He did not bother to see if he had a kill shot or not. He just ran from the theater, pausing only to bend down and grab the shotgun lying by the shooter he had killed earlier.
Maddie was wedged into the corner of the wall with her hands covering her ears. Zavier grabbed her wrist, pulling her up and behind him. He took aim down the entranceway and pulled the trigger. He whirled around and moved back into the theater entrance’s alcove. Maddie was gripping the end of his shirt but was managing to not impede his movement.
The Madison Jennings Series Box Set Page 7